Dancing to Bhaal's Strings
by AstroDeath
Summary: The gods are fickle in what senses they choose to bestow upon mortals—or not in many cases. Having grown accustomed to navigating Candlekeep's halls through his familiar's eyes, Zanven finds the world outside its hallowed walls harder to traverse. The region's banditry, the quarrel of far-away foreigners, and the lunacy of a Cyricist only further the difficult experience (BG1)
1. Chapter 1

_Run, child, get out of here!_

Those words rang in his mind as he stumbled in darkness, running for his life. That command replayed over and over, forever the last words heard from his foster father. He had stood rooted in place by uncertainty as something's heavy footsteps shook the earth beneath him and a stranger's voice demanded he be forfeited over. He had heard chanting and a whistling noise before an intense pain burned in his shoulder, bringing him to his knees. Gorion had roared for him to run, seizing him back to his feet and shoving him away. Back turned and heart thumping, he had taken flight while Gorion bought him time.

Monstrous screams and the crackling of magical energy drowned out the storm's thunderous booms. The noise of the ambush would not disappear, harrying him with its relentless cacophony. It pursued him, a devilish reminder that the safety he had only just left behind was shattered.

Blood pounding in his head, he tore through the woods like a panicked animal. His unseeing eyes made the ordeal all the worse, forced as he was to run unaided without Gorion's presence. His familiar let out distressed squeals from within his pack, the fairy dragon roused from its slumber by its master's mad dash. More than once he tripped over his robes, causing him to tumble to the ground and lose his staff, but he kept on going because of his fear of what might happen if he didn't. It was only when his legs gave out that he crumpled one last time, muscles strained to the brink. Too tired to think, too afraid and confused to make sense of his situation, he mustered up the last of his strength and dragged himself into the bushes.

There he broke down, tears from his blind eyes mixing with the rain and flowing down his face. He wept openly, his familiar nuzzling his side and joining him in his cries. The bastion of his young life had been stolen from him, murdered by the blade of a stranger. He curled into a ball, wanting nothing more than to believe his foster father had prevailed and would come find him.

That would not happen though, and he knew it. It could not happen. He had heard the cries of agony as his father was cut down, knowing that it had been his last stand. Gorion put up a valiant fight, but not without cost.

He felt empty and hopeless. Afraid. Alone. His sobs turned into soft whimpers, chest heaving with exhaustion until a restless sleep took hold of him. His dreams gave him no relief. He twisted and turned, assaulted by Gorion's death gasp as the stranger's steel cut through his flesh.

* * *

Where was he?

She did not find him with his father or those foul monsters' corpses; oh Gorion, poor, poor Gorion! The scene had been an utter mess when she came upon the bodies, wrenching her heart. Guilty for it, she spared little time at the site; surely his absence meant he was still alive somewhere! The girl, hardly an adult, trudged through the wilderness, frantic eyes on the lookout. It was when she saw a pair of legs sticking out of a bush, a small, reptilian creature hovering nearby, did she quicken her pace.

"By the gods! Zanven!" she blurted out, voice full of worry.

At the sound of the woman's cry of shock, the fairy dragon rose up from his master's body and hissed, wings aflutter and teeth bared. Light from the morning sun glistened off of the creature's pale blue scales, giving him an unusually intimidating glint. Minuscule as he was, the creature snarled at her with as much ferocity as it could bring to bear.

"Stand back! Get away from us!" he threatened, tail flicking back and forth in sharp movements.

The woman gasped in response, slowing down and holding up her arms. "Easy! Easy there!" she said, trying to soothe the agitated familiar. "Calm down, Peri! Look, I'm a friend!"

Peri glared at her for a moment before recognition settled in—Imoen! He eased his stance and hopped over to her in a frantic rush, wings flapping. He pranced around her, half-jumping, half-flying until she reached down and held him to her chest.

"Oh, I'm so glad to see you! I thought... I thought you were someone else, someone trying to hurt Zanven! Oh, joy, joy!"

"Don't you fret," Imoen cooed, giving him a friendly squeeze and setting him down. She smiled as Peri scampered over to the bush Zanven was in, pleased with the fairy dragon's sudden exuberance. She followed, gently pulling her friend out of the shrubs. The smile melted away in an instant, wrinkling into a frown upon seeing his disheveled appearance and wounded shoulder.

"Zanven, wake up. Come on, tough guy." Her voice had a playful tone, though it hardly masked her concern. She shook him, eliciting a soft groan but he laid still. Another shake, another groan, and he rolled over onto his back. Peri whined quietly, crawling onto Zanven's chest and licking his face.

"No! Nooo!" Zanven wailed, rising with a start, arms out pushing away some unseen attacker. Peri squealed as he was launched away and Imoen stumbled backwards with a cry of surprise.

"Angelboy! It's me, Imoen, and Peri! You're okay."

Zanven turned toward Imoen's voice, his face contorting in disbelief. "Im? You-why-how?" he sputtered.

"Mhm! Who else has such a beautiful voice as I, Imoen the Magnificent?" she said with exaggerated panache, trying to put him at ease. She had just righted herself when she tumbled backwards again, Zanven lunging and engulfing her in an embrace. His hands groped at her hair and face and patted her shoulders before he hugged her tightly.

"Oh, it really is you!" he choked, emotions held at bay by sleep coming out in a rush; already fresh tears were rolling down his golden cheeks.

"It really is me! No tricks! Don't squeeze so hard now, else you'll break me in two!" She pushed him away and eased out of his grasp, holding him in front of her by his arms. She reached up and pushed the cloth fold over his eyes up onto his forehead, studying his face. Zanven's cloudy, yellow eyes stared forward, their normal glow dimmed as they tried to blink back tears.

He was alive, but it pained her to see the him like this; this was not the boy she had grown up with inside the walls of Candlekeep. That boy was quick to chastise her for her games from the ivory tower that was his ego. 'Don't touch any of my things!' this or 'I told you not to call me Angelboy!' that, those were what she heard from him on a daily basis, and almost always it was accompanied by his know-it-all haughtiness, crafted from burying his head within the library's numerous tomes. The Zanven before her now exuded none of that: no arrogance, no pride; there was only a broken shell, a feeble boy stricken by grief.

"He's... he's g-gone," Zanven whispered; had Imoen not noticed the movement of his mouth she wouldn't have known he had spoken at all. "Someone... _something_ came for us, and now he's dead... I ran away, away from him, and now he's gone." Limply, he leaned forward and touched his forehead to hers, watery eyes cast down at the ground between them.

Wordlessly, Imoen wrapped Zanven in a firm hug. A steady stream of tears wet her shoulder. She held the him as he mourned, knowing for now words could do little to ease his heartache.

Now was not the time to let him know she had seen the aftermath of the ambush, and that she had come looking for him after finding only Gorion and the ogres the wizard-guardian had blasted apart. He would wonder soon, once he could think straight, why she had followed them outside Candlekeep; that could come later, when he could take the news with a stronger heart and a clearer mind. She had compassion to share, first and foremost.

She had no intentions of leaving him to wander alone. She was with him whether he liked it or not, and she wouldn't take no for an answer if he voiced his disapproval. There was no letting a friend down with Imoen, no sir!

"Let's have a look at that shoulder of yours, shall we? Get'cha patched up and good as new." Releasing Zanven, she reached into her pack and brought out a needle and thread and a blue bottle; she was no seamstress and far from a cleric, but it was something. She wedged the bottle in between Zanven's shaky hands and took a look at his robe.

"I ain't one o' them Oghma preachers, but try and drink this down. Tastes just like cow spit, but it'll make you better, promise. Now hold still, Angelboy, so I can fix this tear for you."

* * *

They spent the rest of the morning alongside the road leading back to Candlekeep, near the cliffs overlooking the Sea of Swords. Imoen sat with Zanven, who had yet to utter more than a few words whenever she tried to get him to talk. The quiet between them was unusual; though siblings by association, they had honed their bickering into an art form of familial fighting. Only Peri's snoozing occasionally broke the silence.

"Just look at the water down there! Takes my breath away, it does! You could just paint a picture of this, couldn't'cha?" Imoen started with a flourish, pointing out the scenic beauty of the cliffside, before feeling sheepish, "well, I mean... you know what I meant. You can't see it, but smell the salty sea breeze! Listen to the gulls! We're in nature's world now. There's even a couple'a sirines down there on the rocks!"

"I don't see anything," Peri chimed in with a yawn, awoken by her sudden liveliness. With a flutter of his wings, he moved to inspect the rocks below, confused.

"Hush, you! They are to! You can't see 'cause of the sleep in your eyes."

Zanven didn't budge. There was no pinching the bridge of his nose, no irritated sigh, no snide mockery of her attempt to illustrate the world around them. Imoen frowned. She had hoped he would at least do something, anything to provide a glimpse of his normal self. Even if his old self was a giant stick in the mud.

Imoen stood up, a new idea in mind, and moved behind Zanven to lean against his back. Perhaps touching upon old memories would do the trick. "Remember when we were little and I chased you around the library with one of Reevor's lazy furballs? Ran right out and into a fountain you did when I shoved it in your face and threatened to make you kiss it!"

A squeaky, gleeful chuckle arose from Peri, but Zanven was a rock. She was sure bringing up the embarrassing memory would tease a reaction out of him, but his sad stoicism held up. She hung her head down at failing again, completely at a loss.

"I don't even know where to look for him."

Imoen looked up in surprise.

"We... we were in such a hurry, and he told me so little," he said, voice subdued. "He wouldn't explain why we we're in such a rush. There was no time for talking, no time for questions." Zanven's voice slipped into a murmur.

Imoen gave his shoulders a sympathetic squeeze, sensing him cracking under the weight of his thoughts "We'll find him, you and I, just follow me. I won't even walk you into any trees, honest! It's the least we can do to make sure the buzzards don't get him," she hesitated, nervous she made too light of the situation, "Give'im a right proper burial—well, the best that we can do. Something more than those ogres deserve, that's for sure."

Zanven turned to face her, nearly off-balancing her. "You know." Acknowledgement rather than accusation. Imoen chewed her lip, regretting letting that bit slip; she thought she would have a bit more tact in explaining herself for being outside the fortified library and seeing the bodies. Already she could tell the gears in his head were turning. She knew he hated her nosiness, especially when it involved any of his business.

"I know." She squirmed before anxiety forced more out of her. "I was gonna tell you eventually, really, but—"

Zanven clutched her hands, bringing them together as he stood up. A sad smile threatened to crack his face, the first of which she had seen all day. Imoen wasn't sure what to make of him now; this wasn't anger.

"You know!" Zanven repeated with desperate excitement. Up and on his feet, he beckoned for his familiar. "Peri, she knows!"

The fairy dragon perched on Zanven's shoulder, babbling in delight, "She knows, she knows... knows what?"

"I, um, yeah... I know?" Imoen laughed nervously. It wasn't the change she had expected of her friend, but thankfully the grief filling his mind was beginning to dissipate.

"Where Father is, that's what," he clarified with a budding joy, the seed ever so small. "Im, please, please take me to him. Take me there!" He grabbed her hand again, anxious to move.

"Of-of course," Imoen faltered.

She led him off on a brisk pace, more than willing to answer his plea. It would be bittersweet, reuniting him with his slain guardian, but it was a step in the right direction to clear away the black clouds around him. A closure of sorts; perhaps not the happiest, but it would breathe life back into her childhood friend. Life that she, rascal that she was, would spit in the eyes of the gods if she had to, to retrieve.

"Come on, you, let's go then! And what'd I say about trying to break me? I'd like to be able to use that hand later! My bow won't be good for nothing with only one hand!"

* * *

"-Jaheira and Khalid are currently at the Friendly Arm Inn. They know little of what has passed, but they are ever thy friends and will no doubt help however they can," Imoen finished, reading off from Gorion's scroll. "Doesn't say who wrote it neither, 'cept for E. Pretty cryptic, huh?"

"Quite," Zanven said distractedly, wishing the letter had made more sense. It did little to explain their ambush and Gorion's murder. There was no reaching through death's fold to restore his soul, not with how mangled the body was; he could not see, but his hands felt the destruction wrought upon his foster father. Returning to the scene of his death, being able to restore dignity to Gorion's corpse, helped him fight off some of his despair. With his foster father properly buried—or as proper as the hand-dug, shallow grave could be—his churning mess of thoughts had shifted into one: what now? A sigh escaped him as he stood up, dusting himself off.

He didn't move at first; the thought of putting one foot in front of the other was a harrowing one. He could feel Imoen staring at him when he remained still, her feet scuffing the ground as she shifted in place. "We can't do him much better right now… but we can come back and build him a great big tomb later. Something much more fitting, y'know?"

He nodded. It was a pleasing thought, one he liked very much. "I wish he had told me more. It feels all for naught, leaving Candlekeep. I don't understand. I don't even know who, or what, did this to him. Why shed blood over me?" The malice of his attacker's words stuck with him, sending a shiver down his spine. It had been him that the killer truly wanted.

Imoen draped an arm around him. "It certainly wasn't these brutes. Gorion did a number on them. I wish I had an answer for you, though. I only know as much as you, if not less"—her voice hitched, tinged with guilt—"well, not quite. I, um, accidentally took a peek at Gorion's letter before you guys left. I should have said something before all this, spilled the beans so Gorion would have said something to you earlier."

"So that's why you're out here? How you found me and knew where his body was?"

"Uh-huh. It didn't sit right with me, all secretive and stuff... I had a bad feeling something would happen, that something would go wrong, so I followed you guys once the storm blew over... I mean, I was going to anyway, probably"—she mumbled for a moment, as if a child caught red-handed—"y'know me, but that letter had bad written all over it. Just didn't feel right. Not mad at me for snooping are you?" She let go of him, as if expecting a fit.

Normally finding out she had stuck her nose into his business unannounced would have irritated him, but no anger came; not today. "Mad? A thousand times no! I'd... I'd probably still be huddled in that bush bawling if your nosiness didn't lead you out of Candlekeep."

She ruffled his hair. "That's me, the hero of the story. Saving the damsel in distress—" Zanven poked her in the ribs with a stiff finger. "Ow! Alright, alright! Prince in distress. Better be grateful though, or I'll put you right back where I found you, I will!"

He smiled, his old self rising up. "No! Please, anything but that, Imoen the... what was it again?"

"Magnificent! S'my adventurin' title. You'll have to getch'er own!"

"Imoen the Magnificent," he chuckled; his spirit had been bruised but not yet broken. She suddenly pulled him into a headlock, rubbing her knuckles across his scalp.

"Don't you go taking the dirt nap on me, too! One under the ground's enough. We're two peas in a pod from here on out. Yer stuck with me, like it or not! Gorion'd think you were buffle-headed if you sat around feeling sorry for him, so I'll be making sure there's none of that!" He sensed something heartfelt hidden behind her cheer, hearing the wobble in her voice and feeling her grip tighten.

As much as he hated to admit it—and he was loath to ever do so in front of her face—she was an infectious sort. "We'd best get a move on then and find the road"—he slipped from her grasp, allowing his familiar room on his shoulder—"The quicker we get to the Friendly Arm the better." They'd be safer there, just as Gorion had said, right?

"I wonder what these friends of Gorion's are like," Imoen chirped as they set off together, in higher spirits than earlier in the day. "Jaheira and Khalid. Jaheira's a pretty name, probably a friendly sort, y'think?"

"We can only hope," he replied, similar thoughts on his mind. There was so much left unknown in the wake of Gorion's death, and meeting these two offered a loose string to pull on to start unwinding it all.


	2. Chapter 2

The fire crackled between them, its warmth spreading in the night breeze. The quiet hum of insects surrounded their camp. "Yup, definitely in nature's world now," Imoen mumbled.

"Hm? Something wrong?" Zanven tilted his head in her direction from his supine position.

"Nope, just grousin' over here," She muttered. "You should rest up. You're tired, what with, you know… and us tramping along like we have. I can hear it in your voice that you need the sleep."

She was right, and he knew it. He was fighting sleep rather than welcoming it. "I wish I could. I thought once I put my head down that I'd be out. It's so hard not to wonder about it all… and the ground isn't doing me any favors, either."

She giggled. "What, the ground not good enough? Let me tell ya, it beats some of old Puffgut's beds, that cheap geezer!" She stretched, joints popping loudly. "Besides, it's the adventurin' life for us now, innit? Better get used to it."

"Is it now?" He didn't feel like an adventurer. He was a young man thrust out of his element. What adventure am I even on, he mused. A sigh escaped him.

"You think too much. You let your head go all over the place until it scares the wits outta ya. Just gotta roll with it and see where it stops. Can't forget to keep on pushing, too."

That was something Gorion always said, constantly warning against the faults of overthinking things; however, he had much more tact than Imoen would ever have. Zanven couldn't help but find humor in Imoen of all people handing down wisdom. With a cheeky grin splitting his face, he retorted, "Says you. You don't think at all—hey!" He reeled back as a small object bounced off his forehead.

"I've more rocks where that came from! I've half a mind to just knock ya out cold! That'll make ya sleep." The idle threat was laden with jest. "Right now, we go on until we meet Gorion's friends, and then from there who knows? That's what life is anyway. Everybody just keeps on tossin' Tymora's dice and hopes for the best."

He fell silent, pondering her words. Had the circumstances been different, he would have argued the point; certainly adventuring required more than that. It needed an astute mind and careful planning, as luck could only get you so far. There was no merit to blundering along, nothing in place to deal with whatever was thrown at you, even with all the luck in the world. On the other hand, planning hadn't done him or his foster father any good, so perhaps Tymora's good grace was more necessary.

"What about you? You'll have to sleep sometime yourself, too. Between me and Peri— "

"Nah, nah," she said, dismissing his concern. "I'll keep watch for you and the lizard, and he can be your eyes when the sun comes up. Then I'll sleep. You'll be carrying me on your back though, of course. Gotta be on the move, can't keep 'em waiting at the inn for us forever."

"Imoen…" He stirred, sitting up. That wasn't fair at all to her; he couldn't let her stand watch the whole night. Blind or not, he had to be awake and alert so she could rest just as he did.

"I'm kidding! Although, I mean, s'not like you could lift me anyway—don't you dare even think of calling me fat because that's not what I meant!"

Zanven had to hide a weary smile; it would be a lie to say the childish thought hadn't crossed his mind. "Seriously, Im."

Imoen sighed, and for a moment he thought she'd spit out another joke to sidestep him again. "I'll wake you when I start dozing off and you two can trade places with me so nothing sneaks up on us, alright? But I don't want to be out for too long. Now sleep, you! No thoughts, no worries." Her tone indicated she would brook no more from him.

He lay back down, as satisfied as he could be with her concession. He was certain she'd have stayed awake all the way to the Friendly Arm Inn if he didn't say anything. For all her whimsy, she had quite the protective streak.

Zanven tried to do as he was told, but still sleep was elusive. "Imoen," he began, daring to speak once more and quick to finish before she chided him, "in my pack, can you pull out the book about the Sembian merchant?"

"I remember that one, I think. Bit old for a bedtime story, though, ain't ya?"

He flushed; that was an entirely unnecessary question! "Just… read it to me for a bit, will you? Hand it here first." There was a soft rustling before the book was placed into his hands. He concentrated, infusing it with energy. Zanven held it out for her. "There, here you go. A bit better than the fire light. Open up to the bookmark."

"You and your fancy parlor tricks." Imoen took it back, flipped pages scratching against one another. "Fine, but this book'll put you to sleep one way or another." She thumped its cover pointedly. This time the threat wasn't idle.

* * *

A giant stone wall made from a petrified dragon? Explosive, colorful starbursts? Eating with just a couple of sticks?

Imoen shook her head in disbelief. What an imagination the Semmite had to have come up with this Shou Lung place; he had to have been more bard than tradesman for all the yarn he spun. The dragon and—fireworks, were they?—sounded like spells and monster business, but she drew the line at the foreign eating utensils; no man could eat with just two paltry sticks! The very thought caused her stomach to grumble at the indignity.

She closed the book, having enough of the fanciful tales. A nostalgic smile spread across her face at Zanven's snoring. Not since they were kids had he asked her to crack open a book and read it to him; even now, older as they were, she still had that over him. He always had trouble sleeping, claiming the 'dream man'—no doubt some bogey he made up—haunted him whenever he went to bed, but it was nothing a tall tale from Candlekeep's bookshelves couldn't handle. The two of them were barely into adulthood and yet it still worked like a charm. She returned the book back within his pack, eyes resting on his sleeping form through the flickering campfire.

Imoen held back a laugh, a thought hitting her: born blind and yet he still read more than her! "You hung around them old monks too much," she whispered with a smile. Whether with the help of his familiar or begging Karan to read to him well past his normal lessons, he tore through Candlekeep's library with an unusual eagerness for one so young.

Her though? Books weren't her thing. She hardly ever touched them, although it was always good for a laugh to hide away Phlydia's tomes. It wasn't the scholar's life for her, oh no—especially when she could spend her time nicking pockets rather than keeping her nose in some dusty old book.

A sigh escaped her lips. With such thoughts, it was almost as if they had never left Candlekeep's sanctuary. Instead, here they were adrift on the road, the greenest of adventurers. She had always seen herself taking up the inn after Winthrop had had enough of it; boring work, sure, but it had a quaint charm. Zanven on the other hand would turn into one of the stuffy monks.

Such futures were dashed now. They weren't able to go back to Candlekeep anyway, and—

"None of that! I said no thoughts and no worries, and that goes for me too!" she chided herself, trying to clear away the pessimism. They would make it to the Friendly Arm Inn, find Khalid and Jaheira just like Gorion had said, and everything would be fine and dandy.

She fought a yawn, mouth stretching open when her resistance fell. No, no sleeping while on watch! She ran a hand through her hair and slapped her cheeks to provide a jolt. Imoen the Magnificent did not fall asleep while she was the lookout! She just needed something to do was all, something to keep her busy to fight off her drowsiness.

Imoen turned her attention to the short sword at her side, unsheathing the weapon to study it in the fire's light. Sure was a shoddy thing, obviously from Winthrop's stash; her short bow was in no better shape. Neither were the best of weapons, but they beat travelling unarmed. There was no magic in her blood unlike Zanven; he could whip up spells just like that little light trick while she had to handle the world the old fashioned way.

A screech echoed in the distant wilderness, piercing her silent musings. Imoen jumped, hands tightening around the short sword, but no danger emerged from the darkness. "Just animals or something," she reasoned nervously. She tossed another piece of wood into the fire, poking it to keep it going. "You're worrying just like him now, you big ninny!"

None of the stories about adventuring ever mentioned the dull reality of standing watch. There was hardly anything to do but just watch the fire and make sure nothing ate or robbed them in their sleep. Now she knew how Hull felt during guard duty, just standing around and scowling at anything unlucky enough to walk by; it sure did explain his snappy attitude—or maybe he just hated her in particular for always pestering him.

Imoen lost track of time as she sat trying to think up ways to keep herself entertained and awake. It was a whole lot of nothing, yet so important to keep an eye out for the two of them. Again she found herself yawning, and her eyelids fought against her. She blinked in rapid succession to keep her eyes open, but their drooping never ceased. A quick stretch helped stave off her exhaustion, if only for a little bit.

She hunched forward, elbows on her knees and hands propping her head up, finding it a comfortable position; it was no pillow, but felt better than trying to sit up with her increasingly heavy head. A tiny voice at the back of her mind whispered for her to take a quick nap, just long enough to rest her eyes; close them for a bit and then you'll feel better for the rest of the night, it tempted. She knew it to be a bad idea and the voice should be ignored, but it was so enticing to listen to.

Her head bobbed up and down as she nodded off. In spite of her best efforts to remain awake, eventually she too was snoring, dozing off and joining Zanven in the land of sleep.

* * *

The soft crunch of gravel caused her to stir. Had Zanven woken up before her? She'd never hear the end of it if he found out she had fallen asleep! She lurched up, slowly at first, until something sharp prodded her in the back.

"Wakey wakey, kiddos!"

That was no voice she recognized. She tried to gather her bearings quicker, but the blade at her back dug in harder.

"What—" Imoen began, reaching for her weapon with eyes still filled with sleep. She found her head pulled back by her hair and the sword in her back went to her throat. A man's wicked grin took up her vision, the morning sun just rising up above them.

"You two should be more careful, you know. There's talk of bandits all about, skulking the Coast Way in search of coin," the man taunted. "Reckless couple of kids, aren't you?"

"Don't hurt us!" Imoen blurted out, eyes wide with fear. She had meant to close her eyes for just a moment! From the angle her head was held at, she could barely make out the monstrous figure rudely waking up Zanven and his familiar.

"Imoen! What's happen—" Zanven struggled, voice muffled by a large hand. Peri squealed, the bandit's other hand firmly around his neck.

"Well now, I suppose, Im-oen," the bandit said, drawling out her name, "that will depend on you two. Hand over your money and you'll be just fine. If not, well…" The sword at her neck bit just enough to draw a trickle of blood.

"Teyngan, let's hurry it up! Slit their throats, take their goods, and be done with it!" a female voice squawked impatiently. "We've orders to stalk the road around Nashkel and yet here we are! Quit playing with them already! You do this every time!"

"Yappy bitch right," a hoarse voice agreed, coming from Zanven's direction. "Kill 'em and we go."

"What'd you call me? Shut your mouth, hobgoblin scum, lest you want that ugly face of yours burnt right off!"

"Jemby try! Zekar not afraid!"

Teyngan let out a frustrated sigh, turning his attention from the girl to his partners. "Must you two always do this? Fine, fine." He looked back at Imoen, a fake apologetic smile on his lips. "They never let me savor the moment. Always a rush with them. Looks like I lied, girly. Don't worry, it'll only hurt a bit at first and then it's like… sleeping."

"No! Why? Just leave us be, please!" Imoen pleaded, grabbing at the arm holding the blade to her neck; she could hear Zanven and his familiar's frantic cries mimicking her own. Teyngan's grip tightened and Imoen was sure he was going to rip her scalp right off before cutting open her throat. She shut her eyes, unable to look at her killer.

The steel never sliced further into her flesh. Instead, she heard a twang as something whizzed past her. Teyngan grunted in pain and stumbled back, his sword falling to the ground. Imoen opened her eyes to see a bolt sticking out of him. Before she could figure out its source, more flew through the air, downing the bandits. Jemby had tried to scream a warning for her companions, but it was cut short; Zekar had turned to look at why the woman was yelling again before choking on his own blood.

Four armored figures arose from their hiding places within the forest, dashing over to Imoen and Zanven. Swords out, they wasted no time in making sure the bandits were dead. Imoen watched them go about their grizzly task, speechless that she and Zanven were still alive.

"You there, are you alright?" one of them asked her, the feminine voice hard as steel.

Imoen nodded feebly, a hand tentatively rubbing against her throat. "I… I am, yes, thank you. Zanven, how about you?"

"As good as can be," he responded, just as shaken as she. Zanven stroked his familiar's head, the fairy dragon calming down at his master's touch.

"Good, I was afraid we had struck too late." There was relief in the woman's serious demeanor. "You've no reason to worry now, those bandits are taken care. Dirty animals, the lot of 'em. We've been tracking those three down the coast for nearly a tenday. They've left quite the mess behind them." The woman extended an arm to help Imoen up. "I'm Officer Jessa Vai of the Flaming Fist."

"Flaming Fist?" Imoen asked. She thought it a strange name, if not a tad menacing; it certainly matched up with the insignia on their armor, the clenched hand burning inside a fire.

Zanven made his way over to his friend. "They're mercenaries. Lawmen from Baldur's Gate. I remember Karan telling me about them in some of my lessons."

Officer Vai nodded, looking between the two. "The roads are crawling with these thieves. It's far too dangerous for travelers such as you to be out here. You're easy prey for them." Her glance remained on Zanven for a while; without the mercenaries' intervention, they'd have been easy, dead prey. An eyebrow arched upward, taking note of the cloth around the boy's eyes as if it reaffirmed her point.

Imoen wanted to say something, feeling like the mercenary was lecturing them. It was obvious she slighted them for their naivete, but she was right. A pang of guilt struck her, as it had been her fault for failing to be awake. The dangerous encounter could have been avoided if she had just kept her eyes open or if she had woken Zanven up like he had wanted.

"We just recently left Candlekeep, and we're on our way to the Friendly Arm Inn," Imoen said, leaving out the circumstances forcing them northward. "We're meeting friends there, ones who know the road far better than us."

The mercenary motioned for her comrades to group up after the bandits' corpses had been dealt with. "The Friendly Arm, hmm? That's a fair bit of traveling for you two. It's probably best if you followed us south to Beregost"—she held up a gauntleted hand at the pair's budding protest—"I'd not have it on my conscience to have those I saved put to death by more brigands so soon after their rescue. Beregost is closer and it is safer to travel with us while we are heading that way. Once in town, you'll be better off finding a group heading north like yourselves to avoid the fate you almost had today. There's never a shortage of travelers looking to stay at the Friendly Arm."

Imoen was not fond of the detour, but it was hard to argue with the mercenary's logic; there was safety in numbers. Their journey had barely begun and already they had met danger, one she felt was on her. What was to say next time they would have the Flaming Fist there to save them again? She bit her lip, not responding right away; she remained so long enough that Zanven tugged at her sleeve knowingly.

"We'll go with you to Beregost. Thank you for everything," Zanven said, turning to whisper in Imoen's ear. "I don't like it, but it's better we go with them. It won't hurt Khalid and Jaheira to wait a little longer"—he gulped, hesitating for a moment—"so that we can reach them for sure instead of us never making it there."

Imoen flinched. They really had been way too close to never making it there.

"Alright then. Take time to gather up your things, and your composure if need be. We'll be off once you're ready."

* * *

Beregost was nothing like the confines of Candlekeep. The hustle and bustle of the town dwarfed anything Zanven had experienced at home. The walled library was a quiet place with far less people; in Beregost, people seemed to be everywhere, gossiping, chitchatting, and hawking their wares along the cobblestone streets. He had to fight Imoen's grip on his arm as she dragged him around to point out all of the town's attractions. Officer Vai had noticed their attention on everything around them, telling them that if they thought this exciting then they'd have a field day with Baldur's Gate. He could scarcely imagine how the city would compare, already finding the smaller Beregost exciting.

Officer Vai had been nice enough to give them somewhat of a tour of Beregost and made sure they had adequately prepared themselves for the road in the future. It was after their trekking through town that she led them to the Feldepost Inn, bidding them farewell.

"Really, thank you again," Zanven said, tapping his newly acquired staff against the ground. "You've helped us so much when you didn't need to."

"We'd be a couple'a bodies on the road without ya," Imoen chimed in.

The Flaming Fist clapped both of them on their shoulders. "Think nothing of it. It's what the Flaming Fist is out there for. Be careful though. The banditry has only gotten worse in recent times and it seems when one's dealt with, three more replace them. They've spread us thin from the Gate to Beregost." She waved over her shoulder as she left, leaving them with a small bag of coins for their stay at the inn.

"Well," Imoen started, tugging him along," let's check this place out. We've been walking all day, it'll be nice to pull up a seat and get some cooked food in our bellies. Maybe even buy a whole roasted pig just for Peri!" That got a coo out of the fairy dragon, who thrashed around happily in Zanven's pack. With her leading the way, they pushed open the door and entered.

Immediately the atmosphere changed. The aroma of food and alcohol wafted through the air, and the din of tavern merriment met his ears. It was nothing like Winthrop's place, dizzying in its sensory overload. They found a table and the two sat down, orders quickly placed with the nearby barmaid.

"This is something, ain't it?" she asked. "All these people here… and all their pockets."

Zanven kicked her leg under the table. "Don't even think about it. The last thing we need is to be arrested by the same person who saved us. Gods forbid if you've already put your paws where they don't belong…"

Imoen grumbled, "Spoilsport. Can't have fun around you, can I?"

"Oh, please. You find a way, in spite of my best efforts."

"It's always in your best interest when I force feed you fun, promise! If it weren't for me, you'd be as stuffy as ol' Ulraunt. I'd say I've got you down to just a regular monk's worth of stuffiness."

Zanven shook his head. "Oh, I bet. The lengths you've gone…"

Imoen brushed him aside with a chuckle as the soft clink of plates against the table signaled their food was ready. His stomach groaned as the scent of cooked chicken hit him. With barely even a thought, he slapped Imoen away. "No, I don't think so! Leave it alone! You've got your own food, you pig!" Living alongside her for so long, it was practically instinct that guided his hand to keep her away from his meals.

"Hey! I was only going to food tax you a little this time. Yours just looked a little better than mine. One tiny bite wouldn't have hurt. You're sharing with Peri!"

"Your definition of tiny is questionable at best, always has been, and I'm sharing with him because he doesn't have any for himself, unlike you," Zanven said, meticulously moving his food around before digging in. Peri crawled onto the table, eager for his portion. "You think anybody in here is heading north that we can travel with?"

"Maybe," Imoen said in between chewing a mouthful of food; it was a disgusting habit of hers he had long since quit trying to correct her on. "I've had my eyes and ears open, but I don't know. Would be nice to find some big, strong knights, kinda like them Flaming Fists, or maybe someone else who can throw spells around."

"Anybody around who fits either of those descriptions?" Listening to her, it sounded like she was looking for fairy tale characters to join them. As if the tavern housed a troop of Purple Dragons and War Wizards on call.

"Well, maybe there is somebody. He sure looks like a wizard, with that silly hat and gaudy robes of his—oh! Oh, he saw me pointing at him, he's coming over to us!"

"It's rude to point at people, especially when they can actually see you! Did you make him mad?" It would be just his luck to have to handle a mess she caused!

"Nay, ye needn't worry about this old man's wrath," a calm voice replied. "Thy friend here is right, though. It is rude to point. " He chuckled, a gentle laugh. "Indulge this old man for a moment before he takes leave. How fares the Coast Way?"

"Dangerous," Zanven said, embarrassed by Imoen's actions. "It's not safe to travel alone. We learned the hard way." 'Hard' barely scratched the surface. They were lucky to even be sitting in the inn.

"Bandit's almost had us, they did," Imoen interjected. "You're not heading out by yourself are you, not northward by chance? Not in need of two strapping adventurers to aid you? It's real bad, I tell ya."

The man laughed again. "I am not, though I thank thee for thine offer. If it is as ye say, pray ye take care of yourselves. I will be alright, I assure you. I may look the part of the infirm, but there are plenty of tricks up these sleeves! Fare thee wells." Zanven sensed a quick rush of magic in the air when the man departed; had her silly guess been right?

Imoen tapped Zanven's hand excitedly as the stranger left. "He was a wizard! Snapped his fingers and a pipe popped right outta nowhere! I figured so with those funny clothes. Shame he wasn't going to the Friendly Arm Inn, could've followed him. Don't think I could handle the way he talked for too long though, don't thee think so?"

Zanven pushed Imoen's hand away. "Stop making fun of him... although nice as he was, I couldn't deal with his speech either. You found one wizard, maybe you can find another who's heading the same way as us."

"That's just one of my many talents: sniffing out magic!" Imoen said, full of her goofy confidence. "Could tell right when I met you when we were kids, although that was easy. Look at you. Just need to make you mad and your halo comes out. If that ain't magical, I don't know what is."

"Oh, I bet," Zanven snorted. "I'm glad you're so astute and observant. So much so you gleaned what was told to you by Gorion. All you know is that stupid nickname you came up for me." Gods, it really was an atrocious thing she delighted herself in calling him!

Imoen clapped her hands together, giggling. "I can see it, too! Little faint, so I'm not trying hard enough, but it's there! Calm down, Angel—"

She was interrupted by a small body colliding into their table, sending their food and the familiar flying. Drunken laughter ensued.

"You show that stumpy-legged arse what for, Marl!"

A small hand grabbed a hold of Zanven's leg, using him for balance. "You drunken simpletons! Booze-headed buffoons! You dare set hands upon Tiax? You'll be lucky to shovel manure when the Great Tiax ascends!"

"Hey—" Imoen was cut off again, the shrill, angry voice rising above hers.

"You! And you! Tiax demands you help him confront these insolent peasants who have defied the Chosen of Cyric!" Zanven shrank from the mad gnome, uneager to be a part of his lunacy. Tiax pounded the table, startling him. "Do not slink away like a childish coward! Straighten your spine for Tiax!"

The stomping of footsteps neared their table, and a heavy smell of booze followed. "I'm tired of you, you li'l bastard! Coming in here and draggin' trouble right along with you with all your Cyric talk!"

"Tiax rules all! He will smite you and grind your ashes beneath his boots!"

Imoen's chair scraped against the floor as she stood up, trying once more to make sense of the situation. "Hey! Hey now! What's this all about?"

"Sit back down, woman! This is between me and the gnome!" Imoen cried out as Marl shoved her back into her chair.

Zanven jumped out of his seat, anger welling up inside him. "Leave her alone! Take your fight out of here and away from us!" He placed himself between the boisterous drunk and his friend.

"Yes, Tiax demands that you show these whelps misery! Do you idiots not see the shining gleam of Tiax's defender? It will be your undoing!"

"Cut that out! You're part of the prob—" A fist smashed into Zanven's face while he was occupied with the screaming 'Tiax', knocking him to the ground. He groaned pitifully, feeling the onset of a bloody nose.

"Oh, nice one, Marl!"

"I still got it, Dunkin!" Marl said over his shoulder before turning back to Zanven. "Standing up for the shin-licker, huh? I'll kick your ass good, too, along with the gnome! I'm not afraid of a magician's light!" Zanven's breath left him as he took a boot to the gut, curling to hold his stomach; it was more pain to deal with before he had a chance to inspect his face.

"You'll rue the day you stood before Tiax!" the gnome roared, stepping on Zanven and launching himself at the drunken brawler. Insults flew from his mouth at a rapid pace as he knocked the man down, raining blows upon his head. Zanven struggled to climb back to his feet, woozy and confused.

"Alright, alright! That's enough!" a new voice called out over the small crowd cheering on the brawl. "Get off of him, you crazy gnome!" Marl groaned from the floor as the bartender broke up the fight.

"You all are going to ruin business for me today at this rate! Dunkin, take your friend here and go."

"But the runt is mad! He started it and—"

"He's touched in the head, but he paid for his time here. He ran his mouth, but he didn't throw punches first and fight any other of my customers! Out with you two, out!" the bartender ordered. "As for you, gnome, shut that mouth of yours if you're going to antagonize people on my property."

"Tiax has no need for mercy for fools who ignore his coming place in the world." Tiax said with snide derision.

The bartender ignored him, glad to be done with the fight. "Now then, I apologize for that bit of rowdiness. I'll be sure to have some more food for you two brought out and to have this all cleaned up. It's not much, but you can have this for your nose." He handed Zanven a rag.

Tiax grumbled on, muttering angry curses under his breath as the bartender left them. "Tiax will see you licking his shins..."

"Just what is your problem?" Imoen demanded. "We were sitting here, minding our own business, and you go and bring over that goon you pissed off! Least you could do is apologize!"

"Tiax has nothing to be sorry for, girl! It is you who should apologize for your cowardly laziness, doing nothing while Cyric's favored was accosted by those monkey-spankers! No, Tiax is not sorry." Tiax snatched up Zanven's free hand. "The sightless one, however, is worthy of Tiax's attention, for he is a golden gift from Cyric. What is your name, boy?"

Zanven recoiled from the gnome; he'd rather be called Angelboy for the rest of his life than receive adoration like this. "Zanven, if you must know. What do you want?" His voice was muffled by the rag over his face, but it failed to hide the annoyance in his voice. He wanted to catch his breath and lick his wounds, not deal with the lunacy of some mad man.

The concept of personal space seemingly unknown to the gnome, Tiax grasped Zanven again. "You with no eyes, did what she has not. You obeyed Tiax's command, albeit clumsy as it was. Tiax recognizes such foolish bravery. You have warranted cause for his attention, as Cyric has decreed of Tiax that he seek out the capable."

"What are you babbling on about? Just leave us be!" Imoen asked, frustration boiling over.

"Silence! Tiax has nothing to say to you! It is Zanven that Tiax speaks with," he scolded. "Now, Zanven, Tiax will help you, for he must surround himself with the services of the competent, even if your friend here impedes upon that. Tiax will grant you a small boon to prove so."

Without warning, Tiax chanted a slew of words Zanven didn't recognize and grabbed hold of him, pulling him down so they were at eye-level. There was a warm sensation that accompanied the gnome's rough hand as he grasped Zanven's face, tossing aside the bloody rag, and the pain from the drunkard's blows dissipated. Zanven was quick to rear back once the gnome finished his spell, confused and disgusted.

Not missing a beat, the gnome went back into his rambling. "See? You are healed, thanks to Cyric's gift to Tiax! In return, when the time is right, you will aid Tiax when his ascension occurs. It is truly an honor that all would beg for, groveling at Tiax's feet."

Zanven had no idea what to make of the Cyric-worshipper. The mad man ruined his visit to the inn and then proceeded to latch onto him as some kind of tool for his so-called ascension. What in the Nine Hells was he speaking of? There was definitely something missing from the looney gnome's head. Tiax coughed impatiently, not receiving a response quick enough for his liking.

"Look, alright. Give me time to think on it," Zanven said, wanting to be rid of the gnome for the moment. It was the least he deserved after having his food thrown to the ground, being made a punching bag, and then having a lunatic supposedly gift a boon for the disaster he caused. "It is such a tall task you ask of me, to help in something so… grand." Imoen snickered, drawing an unamused snort from Tiax. He could tell from Tiax's grunt that was not the immediate acceptance he was looking for.

"So be it. Tiax will allow you until the morn to make your decision—Stop laughing at Tiax! You would do well to reign in this woman of yours, Zanven." With a final huff, Tiax departed up to the building's second floor.

Imoen sighed heavily. "About time that fool left us. Now perhaps we can go back to eating in peace. You're weren't seriously considering his offer, were you? There's no way there's even a tiny bit of sanity in that brain of his."

That much had to be true. "He… isn't all there, but for whatever reason it sounds like he has taken to me?" He shuddered at the thought. "Maybe it's not such a bad thing?"

"How can it not be a bad thing? You could find more sense in a sack of potatoes than inside him!"

"He can help us get to the Friendly Arm Inn. It's another person to travel with so that we aren't so easy for bandits to catch. A bodyguard of sorts? Beggars can't be choosers and we're trying to make haste."

He wished that choosing their companions was a luxury they had because the gnome was far from what he had in mind when they entered the inn. Maniacs weren't high on his list for partners, but they did not wish to stay in Beregost for long. Zanven rubbed the bridge of his nose, hardly able to believe that the scuffle had even happened in the first place.

"It's a bad idea! A terrible, no good, rotten one! Surely we can wait a little longer and find someone else, anybody who's brain isn't a complete pile of mush?"

"At least until we get there and meet up with Khalid and Jaheira," Zanven assured her, though the more he spoke the more it seemed it was assurance for himself. "After that, I'm sure he'll have had enough of us and will go his own way." It sounded ridiculous, but if it helped them move northward safely he would go along with it.

"Ugh, fine. I think his crazy must'a rubbed off on you, though," Imoen mumbled.

Zanven certainly hoped not. Whatever madness the gnome contracted was best left to himself.

* * *

Imoen wrinkled her nose after blowing out the candle, the acrid smell lingering in the room. She clambered into bed, fatigue finally settling in after the day's events. Never again would she take a warm bed for granted.

"You still awake," she whispered across the room. She heard the rustling of her friend as he too tried to welcome the bed's comfortable embrace. "Thought so. A bit better than the ground this time, huh?"

Zanven tried to speak through a yawn before repeating himself, "Yes. Gods yes, and there's no need for either of us to stand watch." Imoen cringed at the reminder of her error.

"It won't happen again."

"What?"

"Me falling asleep so bandits can have their way with us. It won't happen again, ever." Determination laced her words. One time was more than enough.

Zanven remained silent, and Imoen started worrying that he would heap blame upon her. Blame she deserved. "I meant to wake you up to trade places," she continued, "I knew my eyes were closing, but I thought... I wanted to help, to make things better, and—"

"You have," Zanven interrupted. "A lot. We're new to this, whether we like it or not. We're not adventurers, and thank the gods we're sitting here now with the opportunity to keep giving it a shot. We just need to be more alert, more careful."

"I know. I wanted to be the hero, to make things alright. I figured if I shouldered the lack of sleep you'd be more refreshed for us reaching the Friendly Arm Inn, and we'd give Khalid and Jaheira big ol' hugs and everything would be fine." That had been the plan until her lapse in consciousness almost cost them their lives.

"We'll do that yet... well, I won't. I'm not fond of hugging strangers, or even you." That brought out an indignant cry from Imoen, causing him to chuckle. "We can both carry the load. Two peas in a pod, remember? Sure, one of the peas is blind and relies on a little dragon to guide him, but it still shares the pod."

"It's just... I screwed up. Your big sis messed up badly."

"Oh please. As much as you smother me, I'm the older one and taller, too. Sure, just barely, but you conveniently forget that. I'm the one who's supposed to think too much, not you. We're still rolling, you know."

She cracked a smile in the darkness, half-tempted to launch herself out of bed and tackle Zanven. When it mattered, he wasn't his usual stuffy self. "Yup, and once we stop we'll give it a push and keep on going."


	3. Chapter 3

"Tiax will rule from a distance!"

"What? Tiax? Get bac—aagh!" Imoen shouted, having little time to watch the gnome flee off into the woods as she struggled with the blue creatures accosting her. She shoved one off only to have another tackle her at the legs, almost bringing her to the ground and knocking her sword out of her hand. She shook free again and gave the monster a hard kick to the head, hopping away before the swarm overtook her again.

"Peri, where?" Zanven yelled, flailing his staff around in an arc around him. A sitting duck, the goblinoid creatures were only held at bay by his familiar fluttering through the bestial crowd. There were multiple Peris flying around, darting and weaving through the legs of the monsters, breathing out a mixture of dazzling light and colorful gas.

One of the faerie dragons closest by landed on an attacker. "Here, Master!" Zanven's staff connected with its skull after the familiar hopped away. "Here, too! Watch out behind!" Peri leapt off another after giving direction and sped into the sneaking monster's face, colliding into it as a thrashing rainbow bullet.

Imoen rushed over, pummeling her way through the bodies in her way in a desperate attempt to reach Zanven. "We can't fight, there's too many of 'em! Tiax left us!" She knew it was a bad idea relying on that lunatic! When they needed him the most he turned tail and fled!

Making matters worse, the creatures began to catch on that not all of the dragons flying about were real. They stabbed at the air, realizing that they were under assault by harmless mirages. The swarm huddled around the trio, cutting off any way to escape. It became a nervous standoff, Imoen clutching nothing more than a bow to swing around and Zanven with his staff. Some of the beasts were taken in by Peri's breath, the blind milling about while others rolled on the ground screeching happily, but there weren't enough confused to blunt their numbers.

"This is gonna be it, huh," Imoen said. She had to stifle the urge to giggle as Peri belched another plume of gas out around them—of all the times to get high off of the euphoria gas! "At least we were able to fight a little this time. We go out in a blaze of pretty colors, imagine that!"

"We can do something," Zanven said through muffled laughter. His hand rose from his face, pink energy coalescing around his fingers before blasting off; the desperate shot missed entirely, smashing into the ground at the feet of the blue menaces and sending up a cloud of dirt.

"Just keep doing more of that, but this way!" She grabbed a hold of his arm and raised it in line with the monsters. They were doomed!

The beasts, swords and daggers brandished, were ready to collapse in on them before a high pitched roar erupted from the forest.

_"Tiax rules all!"_

Imoen couldn't believe her eyes. Out of the brush burst Tiax, riding on the shoulders of some shambling humanoid atrocity. Charging into the mass of blue bodies, his steed tore through them, ripping limbs apart in a tornado of gore while its rider bashed at whatever he could reach with his club. She laughed openly, the mixture of Peri's gaseous breath and fearful surprise too much to handle. As horrific as it was to watch, they were saved!

Before long the beasts were routed, those able to run fleeing for their lives once the tables were turned. Imoen stared at Tiax and the abomination he sat upon, struggling to find her voice. "You came back." She hugged Zanven. "Your crazy gnome came back!"

"Aye, Tiax did," the gnome said smugly. "These miserable things could not comprehend Tiax's greatness so they were of no use. Shame, for he would have liked a xvart slave. Could have taught one to dance for his amusement and clean his undergarments."

Imoen shook her head, much too thrilled to be alive to make sense of his ramblings. She was careful to step over the remains of the xvarts, though it was difficult to avoid the bits and pieces torn asunder.

"What am I touching," Zanven asked. He made no effort to hide his disgust at whatever he tried walking over.

From his shoulder, Peri nuzzled his neck to guide him through the mess. "You don't want to know, Master."

"Trust me, the lizard's right. You really don't want to know." Imoen said.

"Don't look so bothered! It is merely a little blood, the lubricant of Tiax's journey to divinity! Tiax does not wish to see grossed out faces when his followers give him praise! Lay upon Tiax the most glorious of veneration!"

Imoen rolled her eyes while Zanven shook his head. "Yeah, thanks." She was more focused on gathering up her belongings lost amidst the fight than giving adoration.

* * *

It had taken them quite a bit of arguing to get Tiax to get rid of his ghoul, the mad gnome taking umbrage to the request; Korax, as he lovingly called it, was one of his greatest tools, among the highest of gifts bestowed to him from his deranged god. Imoen had felt like ripping her hair out trying to explain to him that they couldn't just walk around in plain sight with a decaying zombie monstrosity. Logic dictated that sensible, _normal_ travelers were very much ghoul-less on the road; unfortunately, logic fell upon the deafest of ears with Tiax. He stonewalled her, proclaiming he would have no further business listening to the useless prattle of a twit-brained dolt. Were it not for Zanven holding her back, she would have shoved his pipe so far down his throat he'd be puffing smoke out his ass!

"Look, uh, Tiax," Zanven said, provoking a glare, "all we meant was that—"

"Tiax is fast losing his patience to your appeals! Korax is my minion! Mine to control!" Tiax blared, urging the ghoul he rode upon to walk faster. Imoen laughed incredulously from behind, knowing Zanven's pleas were for naught. "He listens far better than that wench-friend of yours, too!"

Imoen noticed Zanven's hands ball up at his side, clenching and unclenching. She was sure he'd give up, just as she had, but instead he hurried ahead to keep up with Tiax's pace. Points for persistence trying to talk sense into an empty head.

"It's just that"—Zanven's voice died down to a whisper—"what if by flaunting your overwhelming power your enemies are able to study you and bring down your might? It is unwise to put all your eggs in one basket for your foes to break in one fell swoop."

A look of horror flashed across Tiax's before his usual arrogance returned. "No, impossible. Unthinkable! Tiax is the master and none rival him!"

"But wouldn't it be far better to hide Korax so that you can use him to smite them when they least expect it?" Zanven continued, slowly cracking through the stubborn gnome's defiance. "Imagine those defiling your name thinking they actually have the upper hand, perish the thought, before you tear away the veil and strike them down. Would that not please your god?"

Tiax slapped the ghoul atop its head to signal a halt and hopped down. "Perhaps you have a point and Tiax shall consider it, for his foes are innumerable. Like mindless apes, they climb over each other to grasp at the chance to fling their poo upon him. It would be enjoyable to outsmart them and crush their hope." He fiddled within his coat, pulling out a symbol: a skull emblazoned on a dark sunburst. With a chant, he pressed it against Korax and the ghoul disappeared, leaving no trace of its existence.

He raised a finger menacingly at Zanven—at least, as menacingly as the gnome could muster—and added, "Do not, however, think Tiax isn't onto you! Your idea was merely acceptable and by no means shows more intellect than Tiax's! Your silver tongue will curry no favor."

Zanven held his hands up and bowed his head. With the gnome placated, Zanven slowed to stay back with Imoen. "Oghma above, I can't believe it. I've found someone more insufferable than you!"

"See—hey!" She punched him in the shoulder after registering the slight. "Take that back. I won't be dethroned by someone with an empty skull!"

Maybe that meant they would have no more need for him. They had to be close to the Friendly Arm Inn by now. Surely just insulting him some more would send him off in an enraged huff, just an unwelcome memory easily left in the past. Imoen grinned, loving the thought.

"If you don't like him, then we can just leave him alone, yeah?" There was so much hope in the question. "I mean, neither one of us ever really liked him anyway. We can just make a run for it, his little legs can't catch us even if you can't see for beans... or maybe we can just give him a good thump upside the head with a nice, hard, heavy rock."

Zanven shook his head. "No. He did save us. I mean, look at how pitiful we've been on the road so far. We'd be roasting over a fire by now were it not for him. As difficult as it is, I'll suck in my pride if it means getting him to listen to his 'golden gift'."

Tiax enjoyed crushing hope indeed.

"Fine, but I ain't gonna like him." Just a little longer was all. He'd be gone once they made it to the Friendly Arm Inn.

* * *

"Here we are," Tiax said. "Tiax has brought his servants to the Friendly Arm Inn, just like they begged. Someday, Tiax will have a lair of his own even grander than this hovel of a keep, guarded by all manner of slaves...goblins or orcs, or maybe trolls..." he trailed off, lost in his fantasies.

Zanven remembered accepting Tiax's offer the morning prior in a different light. Tiax had demanded an answer the moment they walked down the steps to leave, and Zanven explained their current destination if they were to join together. Scoffing, the gnome had promised he would take the lost pair under his almighty wings and treat them to lives befitting special lackeys of the soon-to-be Dominator of Faerun. If there had been any begging at all, it was Imoen's doing, protesting traveling with the madman.

"Feldepost's couldn't hold a candle to this place. Looks a bit like home, with them giant walls," Imoen noted. "Didn't have a drawbridge though. Think we can get 'em to build one when we get back?"

'If' was more appropriate, but what use was there to contest it? "And what exactly would be the point? Aren't the cliffs and the portcullis enough?" Zanven asked, resorting to teasing to clear away the dour thought. "Maybe if you dig it up yourself the monks will allow it."

"Shouldn't even bother asking. I'll just dig a little bit every night for, oh, I dunno, a few years, and then they'd have to live with it!"

Zanven laughed at the absurdity of her idea as they crossed the drawbridge. A pair of guards on duty were quick to give them a warning. "No trouble here now. Keep your weapons sheathed and your spell books closed. Simple as that and you'll have a good night."

Zanven could hear Tiax beginning to utter something, no doubt a crude dismissal, and he spoke over him. "That's fine by us. Just looking for some warm beds and some friendly company is all." The other guard merely grunted in response, no doubt used to such pleasantries.

"Wouldn't expect any other kinda company here, what with the name and all," Imoen said.

"You'd be surprised," the more talkative of the two said. "The inn's always friendly. It's visitors not so much, and judging by the look your gnomish friend just gave me stomping by..."

Imoen dismissed it. "He's harmless. We'll keep him from doing anything stupid, won't we Zanven?"

"Of course." There was no way in the Nine Hells he was going to be kicked out because of Tiax's antics.

The pair hurried on to catch up with Tiax. They climbed up the steps leading to the inn's doorway and revelry echoed from within. It contrasted what he dealt with on the road: Imoen's complaints about a certain someone and that certain someone's manic drivel. He expected Khalid and Jaheira would be a nice change of pace to listen to.

Imoen excused them as they passed by a figure, apologizing for bumping close, though they weren't able to proceed. A hand grasped Zanven's shoulder, the youth tensing under the unnecessary firmness. "Hold a moment, friend. You're a familiar sort," the stranger hissed. His grip tightened, nails digging through Zanven's cloth robe.

Zanven moved to turn away. "I... I don't think so. Perhaps you're mistaken." His brain shrieked out warning signals. Who outside of Candlekeep would find him, a young, blind boy, familiar?

"Hey, pal! Let him go!" Imoen protested. "He said he don't know ya, so scram!"

"Oh, no, I'm sure you are." The hold became an embrace, a scaly nose touching Zanven's neck and inhaling deeply. "Yes, you absolutely are. The magic... so tantalizing a scent. Just as I was promised. Allow me a taste." A forked tongue flicked at his skin and teeth nibbled him. He shuddered at the revolting sensation.

"Wha-wha... are you... g-get off!" he said, his nerve fleeing him. Imoen intervened, arms attempting to split them apart, but the offender shifted his weight and shoved her down the steps in a screaming heap. Zanven willed electricity to a free hand and he slapped an open palm on the creep's back, pushing as hard as he could.

The stranger let loose a strangled cry, a mixture of pain and pleasure. "Yes! Let me feel it!" Zanven channeled more energy into his hand until he was let go, the scent of burning flesh in the air. He immediately stepped back and tripped down the stairs on top of Imoen. A weight leapt upon him, bearing down upon his chest. Strong, unnaturally warm hands seized his neck. "More! More of your magic! I will have it!"

Zanven gasped for air that would not come, mouth opening and closing like a fish. He could feel his life seeping away, something beyond suffocation draining him. His arms flailed and reached for his attackers face, channeling more energy in a violent burst. This time there was no masochistic screech, but a garbled cry of pain. Skin burned in his hands, melting in the shocking grasp. The attacker convulsed as a second wave of electricity coursed through him, dying in his strangulation attempt.

When he was able to slacken the grip around his neck, the boy scuttled away on all fours in a panic, stopping only once he felt the stone wall of the inn at his back. Labored breaths sucked in air, trying to ignore the fetid smoke. He sat trembling like a babe—someone had tried killing him again! He vaguely made out voices around him: one was frantic—Imoen?—and the others spitting out questions, interrogatory.

* * *

"I told you already, I don't know! We we're just walking by and this... this thing jumped us!" Imoen threw her hands up in the air, indignant at the accusation hurled against her and Zanven. They were not murderers!

"We've had no trouble and then you three come in and all of a sudden someone winds up dead," the guard replied. He kneeled down to inspect the corpse. The body was a lanky man dressed in dark robes, and what was left of his face was burnt and unrecognizable. "Thing? Looks like a pers—" he hesitated, getting a better look at the damage. Patches of scales lined the body's neck, similar to that of a snake's, and the skin had a greenish hue. He pushed up the sleeves and more scales ran up the arms of the dead attacker.

"That don't look like any person I ever seen," the second guard said. "The hells is that? I don't even remember us letting it in."

The first clicked his tongue and shook his head, no answer ready. He searched the body for an explanation, procuring a furled note. Reading it, his face scrunched up. "You might want to take a look at this." He handed it to Imoen.

She skimmed the note over. A bounty, two hundred gold for Zanven? She looked at the letter, mouth agape.

"I take it the target's your friend there, aye? We'll take care of the body, but I advise you make your stay a short one. If he's got a price on his head, then that means others'll come. That means trouble for the inn, and that's none of our business." Standing up, the guard motioned for his companion to grab hold of the body's feet. "You won't be thrown out, but it's probably best if you rest up and be on your way."

* * *

Zanven groaned, head falling to the table with a loud thud; his forehead throbbed, but it was the least of his worries. Why was someone trying to kill him again?

Imoen patted his shoulder, an awkward touch. "Was it the same person who killed Gorion, ya think?"

Zanven raised his head. "No. That was not him." He was certain of that. He remembered the malice behind that voice. It had been riddled with an undeserved contempt, a firmness that spoke of a readiness to spill his blood. Gorion's was taken instead when his had been withheld.

"It makes no sense," he started, voice rising in frustration. "Why send assassins after me? I've done nothing! I am nothing, a nobody! I've been in Candlekeep all my life, doing nothing but reading books. What's that to anybody!"

Imoen shushed him. "Hey, calm down! Last thing we need to do is attract attention. People are staring! Maybe it's related?"

"It... it has to be. Gorion died for me and I'm still alive. I'm a loose thread that needs to be cut away." Zanven said, quieting down. He could think of no other explanation, though he had no idea what it was he was connected to. He had been on the road for only a few days and there were already multiple attempts on his life. This was a calculated plot, unlike the misfortune of banditry and monsters. Whoever his first attacker was, they wanted to make sure the job would be finished.

Music played around them, the inn's performer strumming a quiet melody, and in spite of the time of night a fair number of patrons sat around drinking, swapping stories and gossip. Zanven laid his head down again, blocking out his surroundings. He cared little for the merriment around him. All he wanted was answers, and no matter how much he wracked his brain he found none.

Imoen cleared her throat, but he ignored her. She tried again and reached over to poke his head none too gently. "Head up, we've company."

Zanven went rigid. Another assassin so soon? Was the gods-damned building full of them?

"Easy, child. Look at me." It was a woman's voice, an accent certainly not Chondathan. He turned to meet the new speaker, not reassured by her tone. An uncomfortable silence settled in, only interrupted by the stranger's curt "Hmm," giving him the feeling that he was being studied. Instead of introducing herself, she called out for someone else. "Khalid."

He perked up at that, jolted by familiarity. Both he and Imoen launched into questions at the same time:

"You're Mr. G's friends!"

"You knew my father?"

"We are, and yes, I did," she said as another chair scraped against the ground, someone else taking a seat. "He is not with you? He would not permit his only child to wander without his accompaniment." Zanven pressed his lips together, giving a single shake of the head. "I see," she murmured in assessment.

"Jaheira," another accented voice whispered harshly. "I t-take it something went wrong?" Another shake of the head. Zanven opened his mouth, but closed it. A wave of emotion forced a lump in his throat. He felt the man's hand on his shoulder, but flinched away; the last hand touching his shoulder had soon went to his neck. "I am sorry f-for your loss. We knew your father quite well and he always spoke well of you."

Zanven took a breath to compose himself. "We were attacked, shortly after leaving Candlekeep," he began, pushing up the fold around his eyes to wipe away budding tears. "Assassins waylaid us. A couple of ogres, a man, and a woman. The man wanted me specifically."

"I had wondered why you had not showed up sooner, though I am not surprised at his misfortune. He made many an enemy in his day. No doubt one finally caught up with him."

Quite the friend Gorion had in her to receive not even an ounce of sympathy. His brewing sadness shifted to anger at her nonchalance. "Then why take him? Does it even matter to you that I am here without my father, that I had to bury what was left of his body? What sort of friend—"

A strong hand wrapped around his and both Imoen and Khalid gasped. "Do not make the mistake that I care not for his passing," Jaheira said, voice taut. "He was a good soul and an honorable companion, something short in supply today. However, has the world not yet stopped moving, child?" Zanven tugged his hand back when her grip softened.

She really was a friendly sort.

"Tragic as it may be," Khalid interjected in a kinder tone, "G-Gorion would want you to forge on, no?"

Zanven said nothing, rubbing at his aching hand. He knew the answer now as much as he had when Imoen had said the same thing. The least she could have done was sounded like she cared.

Imoen filled in the troubled air. "Zanven and I, uh, Imoen's my name if Mr. G never said anything about me, had a bit of trouble getting here after that. Bandits almost had us and then monsters, too."

Jaheira responded without hesitation, a scathing analysis ready. "Of course. You're a pair of sheltered children on the road, naive and quite literally blind. Truly a fortune you made it here in one piece."

Zanven stood up and leaned against the table, his chair nearly toppling over. "What in the hells is wrong with you," he asked, seething. He had not come here to hear ill of his recently slain father and face the derision of a stranger! It was even worse that such harsh criticism came from a supposed friend.

"J-Jaheira, really now, is that n-necessary?"

She sighed, seeming to begrudgingly accept she touched upon a nerve unfairly. "Sit back down. Honestly, I meant no insult. Think, though, on how close these highwaymen and monsters almost had you."

He sat back down, blood hot, as Imoen nervously continued on. "Well, um, it wasn't just the two of us. We stopped in Beregost first and met someone who traveled with us here. Not sure where the gnome is now, come to think of it. He's an, uh, odd sort."

"Another assassin was waiting for us here, too," Zanven said bitterly. Would she care about that either? "Attacked me right before we came in the door. We've the bounty notice to prove it." He slapped the scroll down and shoved it her way.

"Then it is g-good and well you m-made it here," Khalid said. "You are welcome to join us with Gorion's p-passing, especially knowing you are hunted. It would be for the best."

"Yes, he always did see us as guardians for you if Silvanus ever took him into his fold, though you are old enough to make decisions for yourself," Jaheira added. The way she said it, it was almost as if she was daring him to decline.

"That would be wonderful!" Imoen gushed. "Right, Zanven?" Zanven grunted a curt reply. After finally meeting the pair, he wasn't thrilled by the idea of sharing the road with that frigid woman. Imoen nudged him in the side, pressing him for a more intelligible approval. "Right?"

He exhaled. "Yes, yes, of course." She and Gorion may have been friends, but he could only wonder how that friendship ever blossomed. Perhaps he took pity on her that even rocks could show more emotion.

"Then it is settled. We shall travel as one," Jaheira said. " I must warn you two though we will not be on the road for pleasure. My husband and I are on our way south to Nashkel to look into, ah..." For once she hesitated. "Local concerns. We are to meet the mayor there and investigate strange happenings in the mines. There are fears its related to the iron shortage affecting the coast."

"Iron shortage?" Imoen asked. "So maybe Winthrop wasn't making up excuses for his cruddy inventory after all. No wonder everything seemed to break if you so much as looked at it funny."

"It's b-been affecting everyone," Khalid said. "Even the best of metal now is b-brittle and liable to break when you need it the most, and since the bandit raids have intensified, anything b-brought from outside is stolen. We wish to see what we can do about it."

Imoen clapped her hands, no doubt bubbling with excitement. "So it's an adventure then?"

"One might call it that," Jaheira said slowly, her sternness contrasting Imoen's joy. She stood up from the table, excusing herself. "Well then, I will have to meet your gnomish friend in the morn. I am retiring for the night, and I advise you two do the same. The earlier we leave, the better, so we can cover more ground. It will be quite the trek from here to Nashkel." Zanven counted her steps as she left, his irritation easing a bit with each pound of her boots getting feinter.

Good riddance, Zanven mentally huffed.

"I will admit, her, uh, demeanor can be a bit lacking at times, but she is a good person. Pricklier than a Calim Cactus, but d-don't tell her I said that," Khalid said, practically reading Zanven's mind. "Even Gorion took slowly to her at first, and you know as g-good as I, if not b-better, that he had the patience of a saint."

"Swords for spikes," Zanven muttered, getting a laugh out of Khalid.

"I assure you, she really is a dear," Khalid said before following after his wife. Sure, and he was the son of a god.

* * *

"I thought we weren't letting him come along anymore," Imoen whined next to Zanven as they hurried to keep up with the pace set for the road. "Just to the Friendly Arm Inn, you said!"

"Yes, but..." Zanven paused, shrugging when he found no words. "I changed my mind." He kept his reason to himself, knowing Imoen would have his head if he told her.

"He's gone and put a spell over ya, hasn't he? That's got to be it," Imoen muttered.

Truth be told, he had planned on telling the gnome to part ways. That was until Tiax made his introductions. He had picked up on the brusque welcome Jaheira had given to the gnome, especially once he went on about his ascension nonsense. It had not made a good impression on her, though he doubted Tiax was capable of ever making a good impression on anybody. Much to his surprise, he had found himself sticking up for the gnome and lobbying for his place in the group; annoying as Tiax was, the madman fed off of sweet talk, and Zanven could ignore his pride to provide it if it meant getting under that woman's skin.

Besides, spiteful as it was to take joy in her frustration, Tiax had shown a willingness to fight and some skill in healing. He wasn't entirely useless.

"It would behoove you three to pick up the pace," Jaheira called out from ahead.

"Nothing behooves Tiax unless he wills it," Tiax shot back. "He needs no harpy screeching at him to walk faster!"

"If only I were one. Perhaps then I could drag you through the air by your legs. It would make for a much quicker journey."

"What's got you grinning like a fool," Imoen asked.

"Nothing. Nothing at all," Zanven said, perhaps a tad too quickly. Imoen registered it with a skeptical "Huh," but prodded no further.

Solid form, Tiax. Keep at it and you'll definitely earn your keep.

* * *

They had passed Beregost again, reaching the town quicker than how long it took the trio to make it to the Friendly Arm Inn. For all the strain of their trekking, there was still plenty of daylight left. They did not stay in town for very long though, the elder travelers keen on staying only long enough to restock rations and supplies; one more so than the other was very adamant about it, much to Zanven's annoyance. Eventually, their march came to a halt once Selune took over for the Morninglord's light, and camp was made away from the road, out of sight in hopes of avoiding any unwanted intrusions.

It was a mundane affair as everybody set up their bed rolls and prepared a small cooking fire. Even as they clustered around eating together, there was a hush over the group. Jaheira and Khalid traded whispered words amongst themselves, Tiax's grumbles were subdued, and even Imoen said nothing as she sat next to Zanven. Quite the adventuring band they made, just full of camaraderie.

"We will be waking in shifts," Jaheira stated as dinner came to a close, the fire put out before everybody took refuge in their bed rolls. "I will take watch first with Zanven and Khalid second with Imoen. Then you last, gnome." Imoen accepted it with little question and Tiax acknowledged her with a grunt.

Zanven found it strange that she paired them up, and worse, he would be sharing the night with Jaheira. "Wouldn't it be better for us to all sleep longer if we each took watch alone?" Zanven asked. Did she not find him or Imoen capable enough?

"No. For now, we don't have that luxury. There is a method, I assure you."

He found little of what she said assuring. "Why not?" Confusion replaced his irritation.

"Set your suspicions aside and end your questions. Perhaps then you might understand."

Imoen squeezed his shoulder. "I don't think it'd hurt to listen to her. She said there's a reason for it. Maybe give her a chance, if only so we can sleep without hearing you two go at it?"

"Fine," Zanven said, conceding. After their first meeting though, he hardly cared for giving Jaheira a chance.

As the rest bedded down, Jaheira was a quiet guard. He sat with his familiar as company as he heard the movement of her footsteps around the camp patrolling, giving him no warning before she left.

"Am I to understand there is a point to why we are both here," he asked when she returned, a touch of frustration in his voice.

"I thought Gorion would have taught you patience," she said, further annoying him. "Is it not Candlekeep's specialty?"

He didn't need this from her again! Zanven stirred to move away, intent on climbing into his bedroll.

Jaheira sighed loudly. "You are a trying one. Sit." Zanven halted, folding his arms across his chest. "We do not need to get along, but there is a way things must be done on the road, whether you find it agreeable or not. Your disability makes it harder, but I find your attitude much more of a hindrance."

"I've navigated the world just fine so far, thank you very much! I'm not a useless child to be coddled, nor is Imoen if that's how you see us," he said, putting an emphasis on what she continuously called him.

"Nor will you be! However, you must understand you are not within the walls of Candlekeep anymore," Jaheira snapped, her words a sharp hiss. "Gorion always spoke of your willingness to learn, but so far I've seen little to convince me so! Circumstances have entrusted me as your guardian and I intend to uphold that duty, no matter whatever petty notions you have about me."

Heat rose to his face at the rebuke. "So, is this to be some sort of lesson then?"

"Yes, just as it will be for Imoen with Khalid," she said with her infuriating bluntness. "It would be foolish to have either of you taking watch until you are seasoned to it. In your case, combined with your lack of sight, it is far more dangerous without practice. I'll not be trusting inexperienced eyes and ears with our safety at night until I know for sure we won't find ourselves waking up with our throats slit."

Zanven quietly stewed, angry at how fair an argument she made. He had been so caught up with his dislike for her in their short time together that he had not thought she might not be repaying spite with spite. He had already woken up to a blade at his throat before, much like she worried about, and with assassins now at his back it was only logical to prepare them for the road ahead. She and her husband were the journeypeople, and even Tiax too if the gnome ever pulled himself away from his delusions long enough to prove it.

"How much of me walking around did you hear?" Jaheira asked.

"I knew you were there, if that's what you want to know. I've heard quieter steps, though I can thank Imoen for that, the dirty sneak-thief." With her as a friend, one needed their senses always on alert or else risked falling prey to an onslaught of pranks, especially with one missing.

"That is something to work with. What of your creature there?"

"Peri?" Zanven roused the faerie dragon from his snoozing. "What of him?"

"Yes, if that is what he is called," Jaheira said in a tone that reminded him of Parda whenever he asked too many questions mid-lesson. "How are his senses?"

"Well enough, I suppose."

Jaheira leaned in close to Zanven, causing Peri to squeak in surprise. "'Well enough,' tells me nothing. Peri, are you able to see through the darkness? Are you ears keen? Your snout—"

Zanven clutched the small dragon and moved away from her intrusion. "Now you interrogate my familiar?"

"It is important to know to gauge your effectiveness," she said, making his old teacher's bouts of lost patience seem like child's play. "My questions still stand, and I would very much like them answered."

Grumbling, Zanven nudged the dragon, signaling compliance with the abrasive woman was okay. Peri cleared his throat, a funny, shrill noise. "I, um, can see as far those trees straight ahead. I always heard the cats trying to creep up on me back home and could sniff out all the rats." His tail swished in the air and fanned his master, acting like a happy, reptilian puppy.

"Two dozen paces, I'd wager," Jaheira said, leaning back and freeing the boy from her close proximity. "Good. You can consider my interrogation finished. You must complement each other, and the more I know, the more I can hasten that."

"What else can you tell me of your evaluation?" He couldn't help but be reminded of Gorion by the woman's constant critical eye of everything, yet her scrutiny had a grating edge. "Any other faults needing improvement?"

"I'll spare your feelings and refrain from answering that. I advise you make sure that glow of yours is kept to a minimum at night, though. Best not to attract unwanted attention."

More criticism that he couldn't argue with wrapped up in a slight. Sickeningly pragmatic.

"Could I share night watch with Khalid sometimes?" For the first time since they had been on the road, he heard her laugh.


	4. Chapter 4

Jaheira signaled a halt. "Lay low, we've trouble up ahead." The party scattered from the main road, taking cover in the nearby rocky outcroppings.

"T-trouble?" Khalid asked, unsheathing his sword. "What is it?"

"Nothing Tiax can't handle!"

Jaheira shot Tiax a savage look. "Keep quiet, fool! I'll not have us undone because of your madness."

Imoen took pleasure in seeing Tiax shrink away from the insult. It served him right for all the annoyance of his company. "More bandits?"

The older woman shook her head. "Most likely. It's a band of hobgoblins and," she paused, eyes squinting to assess the dangers up the road, "a couple of ogres, though they're smaller than some I've dealt with before. Perhaps half-breeds."

Imoen's face scrunched up at the thought, wondering about the other half. "What would... y'know, with an ogre?"

"You're better off not thinking about that," Khalid said with a frown. Imoen covered her horrified expression with a hand.

"Khalid and I will lure them to us so we can fight on our terms. You three shall stay back behind the rocks," Jaheira said. "I pray that you two are accurate sorts with that sling and bow."

"Am I to do nothing?" Zanven asked.

Jaheira stared at him. "And what can you do? No, I will not deal with this right now. We are not afforded mistakes. Do not fight me on this." Before he had a chance to argue, she moved away with Khalid.

Imoen pulled her bowstring tight, an arrow knocked. As quickly as the elder adventurers left, they reappeared in a calm retreat. Khalid danced away from two of the creatures, avoiding both blade and fist of hobgoblin and ogrekin. He fought defensively, shield rumbling under the heavier blows of his opponents, and Jaheira let loose a covering hail of rocks from her sling as they slowly backed up to where the road narrowed to hem in the monsters. The other ogre and hobgoblins followed closely behind, trying to find a way to break through.

Tiax swung his sling overhead, a feral gleam in his eyes. "Shoot already, girl, and not at those ones! They've archers of their own!" Imoen's first shot went wide, closer to Khalid then the monsters around him. Khalid looked back at her for the briefest of moments and a wave of guilt washed over her—friendly fire, definitely a no-no.

She cheered when one of her shots hit its new mark, a bowmen taking an arrow to the shoulder. There was little time to celebrate as she had to dive back behind cover, an arrow whizzing by where her head had been. Wounded but still standing, the hobgoblin dropped for good when a stone cracked its skull.

"Take happiness only in their death," Tiax chided. Imoen made a face in response, refusing to show acceptance of his point. For once though, his words made sense, dark as they were. She hadn't even killed the hobgoblin before celebrating, and it had very nearly cost her.

Valiant an effort as it was, Khalid struggled to hold off five of the brutes as they tried to overwhelm him. His blade felled one of the hobgoblins, lashing out and leaving a gash across the creature's chest, but he had less and less room to fall back. When they massed around him, thinking they had him trapped, he broke away from their convergence. Jaheira started up a chant, her hands covered in a yellow glow, and vines burst from the ground. The plants snaked around limbs and throats, wrapping around in a choking embrace.

Led into the trap and unable to fight back, the immobilized creatures were cut down with ease by staff and sword. Seeing their comrades felled, the bowmen threw down their weapons and ran. Tiax and Imoen made sure they did not get very far.

"Is it over?" Zanven asked.

"Yup. The good guys won," Imoen said. "Come on, they're motioning us over."

"That was it? This was the trouble?" Tiax asked as he sauntered through the dead bodies. He sifted through their pockets, happily taking up anything of value. The gnome let out a screech when one of the fallen ogres wrapped a hand around his leg, enough life in it still to want to fight. Tiax extinguished whatever life remained, clubbing the monster's head into a bloody mess. He derided the creature as swung over and over again, enjoying the death.

Jaheira regarded him with a grimace. "A despicable little man you two have found to share the road with."

"He would do well to be a little less... well... evil," Khalid said.

"Tell me about it," Imoen replied.

* * *

_And what can you do?_

Jaheira's words replayed in his head, taunting him. Static coursed through Zanven's free hand, sparks jumping between his wiggling fingers. Without thinking, his magic came to him as his temper flared. Just a quick handshake, that'd give her a taste of what he could do.

What right did she have to sideline him when he could do far more than take cover? He was no arch mage, but Imoen took part and was far from a warrior herself. If she expected him to fall in line and dance to her domineering tune than she had best think again.

A polite cough interrupted his thoughts. "You look p-pensive… and, uh, your hand's a bit…" Khalid's words trailed off. "Is something the matter?"

Zanven clenched his hand, fizzling out the spell. "She is maddening!"

"Ah, but isn't it her best quality? Quite endearing really." Khalid said. "I know things have been t-tense between you two and no doubt they will become strained even further, b-but do remember she means well."

"I am not useless, you know," Zanven said. "I wasn't in Candlekeep and I won't be here."

"Nor would I ever think so."

"Jaheira thinks otherwise, I'm certain."

"I, ah…" Khalid's hesitation proved his thoughts true. "It is not as though she means to be m-malicious. It can be hard to tell, but it's her way of worrying."

"Perhaps she should worry less then. I will not hide behind rocks every time we must defend ourselves."

"Tell me then, what would you have done in that fight? D-don't make that face, I ask honestly."

"I learned spellcraft in Candlekeep. Magic's in my blood. I can assure you, that is helpful." Zanven puffed out his chest. Sorcery was nothing to sneeze at, and frightening as it was, it had been what saved him so he could meet the two of them in the first place.

"Oh, t-trust me, I know. I've seen Gorion work the Weave and impressive doesn't begin to describe it. He enjoyed speaking of your t-talent, too." Khalid laughed. "But, what exactly would you have done? I can't imagine you fought off many ambushes in C-Candlekeep. How would you have known where to cast? Who to strike?"

Zanven's shoulders sagged. At least with Jaheira he could stoke the contentious fire within and argue against. Khalid's calm fashion brooked no dispute. He was liable to hit one of his friends if he launched spells into the fray, and that was if he hit anything at all. The memory of the xvarts stood out.

"I do not mean to p-patronize you," Khalid said. "Imoen, too, will need experience. Her accuracy was, ah, a t-tad lacking. It is to be expected though. Candlekeep is renowned for a far different set of skills than what is now asked of you two. Your talents will shine given time, both new and old."

"Hopefully blindingly so, that way people can't ignore them," Zanven said, a specific person in mind. Khalid chuckled. With his disarming laugh and demeanor, he was far more pleasant to deal with than his wife.

"I wonder, how well do you wield that staff?" Khalid asked. "You'd do well to know how to defend yourself with more than just magic."

"It's more of a walking stick really, but Gorion made sure I wasn't always in the library and had me train with the Watchers. 'What good's a mind if its body wastes away,' he'd tell me." How he hated those training sessions. Hull took far too much glee in putting him to the ground. Books were better. They didn't leave bruises.

"Master's best left with magic," Peri said from his shoulder in a teasing tone. "He always skipped his training unless someone dragged him to them."

"Peri!" Zanven swatted at the dragon as he fluttered out of reach. Embarrassment warmed his cheeks. "I, um, am not a fighter, but I… can hit things, kind of."

Khalid clicked his tongue in mock disapproval. "We'll have to change that. Gorion was right to try and instill some martial sense in you."

"So you'd train me then?" Unfortunate as it was, it was another adventuring lesson to be learned. He took some solace in Khalid being his teacher.

"I don't know. There is another b-better than me with staves amongst us, and a mighty fine fighter at that."

It did not take long to register who Khalid had in mind. A special kind of dread went down Zanven's spine. Khalid's evasive answer was not what he wanted to hear.

"Khalid," he began in a panicky voice, "really, wouldn't it be you, right?"

Khalid whistled an innocent tune, walking onward.

* * *

She watched and waited, eyes keen on surveying her prey. Two were busy, engrossed in conversation, and the other forged on ahead, all her energy spent in scouting. That left just the one, no unwanted attention from the others harrying her. It couldn't have been more perfect.

It was past the point of no return, the plan set firmly in motion. He didn't know—couldn't know! She closed the distance one quiet step after another, her target unaware of her machinations. It was enough to make her want to laugh, giddiness threatening to overcome her. His ignorance was her bliss.

The fool hadn't a clue!

Imoen reached down, fingers slipping into the coat pocket and wrapping around a small trinket: some gem she had seen him take from the hobgoblins that had caught her attention. No amount of money could equal what it truly represented. It was a crowning achievement: sticking it to the damnable gnome!

Her hand slid out without so much as touching the material around it—or at least, it would have if it weren't for a sudden force holding her sticky fingers in place. "You dare prod Tiax?"

"Lemme go!" She had been so close! How had he known? One moment he had been in the throes of his senseless ramblings, oblivious to the world, and then the next his hand held hers prisoner in his pocket.

"Mutton-headed fool," Tiax said. "Your sneakery is no match for Tiax's divine senses! He pilfered this first so it is his. Find your own loot to plunder."

Imoen yanked her hand back, breaking his hold. "Fine, I didn't want it anyway! I'll have to wash the stink off'a me now for even touching it and your grubby paws."

"Tiax has transcended bathing, and so too shall the world when he rules." He stared her down before snapping his head forward, intent on ignoring her.

Imoen countered with a petulant gaze, glaring daggers into his back. It was humiliating being caught in the act by him of all people. She, a grand and dashing thief, the Terror of Candlekeep, had been subdued by some manic gnome with a head full of air. Truly there were no gods, for they would have never allowed such a disgrace!

She agonized over her failure, at a loss for where she had gone wrong. She had studied him for so long, taking in his gait, the way his arms swung while he moved, and where he rested his hands at his sides. The gnome had never looked back and only talked to anybody else whenever Jaheira slowed to let the group know of her findings, and even then it was just his usual dismissal.

How did that little slimeball know?

"How'd you catch me?"

"Tiax knew all along, he did."

Imoen flushed, angry and embarrassed at being showed up. "You're lying! I touched you on accident or I moved that gem a little or I stepped too loud. I must'a done something!"

Tiax laughed, a shrill, derogatory sound. "None can outsneak Tiax. The ground wouldn't dare whisper when he walks. His hands know no barriers. Even the blasphemy of Mask shudders at Tiax's thievery." He spat onto the ground after uttering the deity's name.

Imoen pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling much like Zanven in that moment. "Yes, yes, we all know Tiax is great and grand and good at everything, but _how_ did you know?" Something tipped him off, some quirk or tell she needed to improve upon.

"Tiax has the heart of a rogue and a blessed one at that. He is no shoddy long-limb thief like you." The gnome circled around and grabbed at her arm, giving it a dismissive shake before Imoen tore away. "Tiax could tell he was being watched and could see through your feeble mind. You thought yourself a stalker, but he knew you had to bend down and reach to molest his pockets. Count yourself lucky he is merciful to his entourage lest he makes a martyr out of your hand for your buffoonery."

Imoen huffed in frustration. Everything about the cretin was exasperating, as if some vile higher power decided to roll up arrogance, greed, and insanity into one dirty gnome. She pushed past Tiax, knocking him aside. She contained a smug grin as her hands brushed up against him.

"Wait." She froze. "Stiff-rumped fool you might be, but Tiax admires your pettiness. You may have your gold back."

"What? You knicked that off'a me?" Sure enough, the pouch of coins normally clinking at her waist was gone. She caught it as Tiax tossed it back to her.

"One day, perhaps your skills may be half that of Tiax's. He finds them amusing and deigns to spur them on. Once we reach Nashkel, you will see the mark of a master."

"Whatever you say."

Neither said much to the other from then on, though she found the offer intriguing. She didn't like him, but that could be put aside in the name of mischief. Play apprentice to his master and then pull off an even greater heist: stealing knowledge.

Imoen played with the gem in her pocket, the second pickpocketing attempt successful. His hands weren't so quicker than hers as he wanted her to believe. She pulled it out and kept it out of sight of its owner, marveling at the pretty brown-red color glittering in the sun. It looked kind of funny though, like a drunken jeweler had taken to it. She shrugged, concealing it once more.

Soon though, she found her pocket strangely light. Investigating resulted in finding it empty. In a flurry of hand movements, she pulled her pockets inside out and rummaged through her pack. It had just up and vanished!

There was no way Tiax had stolen it back! He couldn't have. She had stayed clear of him since their spat. So why was it gone?

"Something the matter?" Tiax asked, a devious glint in his eyes.

* * *

His feet were swept out from underneath him and he crashed to the ground. Zanven lay still, wondering how many bruises he had now. Supposedly, this was called sparring. He certainly wouldn't have called it that. No, this barbaric practice was little more than a thrashing, one Jaheira no doubt had to be enjoying.

Curse Khalid! Why did he have to be the one to meet with the Berrun Ghastkill and not her? The man had betrayed him, luring him in with kindness before throwing him to his wolf of a wife. It's for the best, he had promised, she can teach you far better than I, and besides, perhaps you'll learn to find each other agreeable.

Oh, she was teaching him alright. Teaching him all sorts of pain.

"Up with you." Jaheira said, wrenching him from the ground. "You can't stay still. Not every foe will seek to just trip you. Your timidity will get you killed. I've seen more ferocity in fawns."

Zanven gritted his teeth. "Can't exactly say I'm used to this."

"All the better for these assassins of yours then. Come at me, we've only so much daylight left before Khalid comes back, and I do wish for you to have learned _something_ in this time."

"Yeah, wouldn't want us to not be able to see, huh? That'd be a shame." Pain shot up his leg from the dull thwack of wood smashing against his calf, and he swung out in front of him on instinct, catching only air as Jaheira jumped away.

"Fair enough then. Hold a moment and hand me your blindfold."

"What?"

"Give me the cloth around your eyes. Though our enemies won't be so kind, I shall make things fairer, if that's what you wish. Perhaps then one of us can salvage a skill from this."

Zanven grimaced at the bite of her words. As he untied the cloth, an idea struck him. Consequences be damned, he'd show her a surprise. Jaheira clasped his hand, but yanked the cloth away with a startled yelp. As quick as the surge of electricity came, it died away. He couldn't keep from cracking a smile.

"Alright," she said, tone sharp. She walked away. "Prepare yourself."

She gave no warning. A cry from Peri and rapid footsteps alerted him to her rush, forcing him to backpedal. Air whistled from the swing of her staff and sang again in her second strike, no hesitation on her part at all. He brought his own weapon to bear, hands trembling from the shock of the two staves colliding. Again and again she swung, giving Zanven little time to anticipate her attacks. A few times he managed to block the rain of blows, but not enough as new parts of his body screamed in protest.

Zanven broke up the onslaught through luck, stumbling as his footwork failed him. Jaheira's pace stopped, registering her opponent no longer stood in front of her. He rolled away in desperation, clipping her ankles with his staff. For the first time, Jaheira tumbled to the grass.

He scrambled back to his feet to get away from her, hardly registering the small victory. There was a standstill when she found her footing, each fighter trying to feel for their positioning. The woman edged closer, steps slow and methodical.

"Stop backing up," Peri whispered. "There's a building behind us."

Zanven groaned, his retreat halted. His wits danced about, no strategy formulating as Jaheira closed the gap between them. He had to do something! With a breath, and a silent prayer to Oghma, he ran to meet her. He swung wide and high, meeting wooden resistance. She brushed him aside, countering with a series of swats and a jab to his midsection. Pressure pushed his stomach in and his feet left the ground as he was launched through the air, landing hard onto his back.

He heaved, sucking in air. There was no way this was practice of any sort. She was trying to kill him!

"M-mercy…" Zanven said, struggling to find his voice. "You win, I lose… Gods above, please, just stop hitting me!" He cowered, hands held over his head. Dignity was thrown away in favor of ending the bout.

Jaheira nudged him with her boot. "It is not a matter of winning or losing. Life will demand many skills from you, and it is imperative that you know how to defend yourself."

Zanven sat up as Jaheira tied his cloth around his eyes. That had been worse than anything Hull had ever treated him to. Hells, she could have taken on all of the Watchers at once and come out without a scratch.

"I feel like you threw me down the Cloudpeaks." He inspected his arms and legs, gingerly patting at the newly-formed welts. Even sitting still, the world spun around him.

"Combat calls for a determined will, though I may have overdone it," she said, a hint of apology in her tone—not an outright one, of course.

Clapping interrupted them. "A great fight, yes! Such fury makes Boo's fur bristle with excitement!" A squeak followed the man's booming voice. "Do not feel bad for being bested by her, friend, for Minsc knows the heart of a warrior when he sees one!"

"You've been watching us?" Jaheira asked, voice tinged with suspicion. "Have you nothing better to do than to spy on others?"

"I, ah… meant no harm. My Rashemi blood called me to the sound of fighting and I couldn't help but be awed. You are as fine as any berserker!"

"Well, thank you… Minsc? Surely though you'll let us get back to our business." Jaheira said. She helped Zanven back to his feet, intent on continuing their practicing. She snorted, addressing the stranger again. "You are to be our spectator still?"

The man coughed. "Well, no… but perhaps Minsc could join in? I am no stranger to combat, and nothing brings me as much joy as a good fight! I almost threw myself in earlier, but Boo said it would be rude without permission."

"I, um, no, I think we're alright," Zanven said. He did not wish to have another clobber him to pieces. It was embarrassing enough that a stranger had seen him ruined in the fight; that same stranger didn't need to have his way with him too. Worse, listening to the man, he worried for his health. If the man was as large as his voice, he would squash him flat.

"Actually… you may join us, Minsc." Jaheira said. There she went again with that tone of hers, one that implied a plan was in the works. "I am Jaheira and my friend is Zanven. He is inexperienced and we've been trying to remedy that. By all means, show us the fighting styles you have honed in Rashemen."

The man let out a roar of laughter and walked over to them. Zanven's hand was engulfed by a much larger one that shook his entire body in its greeting. "Minsc will show you his prowess in the art of butt-kicking! You can take off your robes, Zanven, and you won't need your staff. Let us wrestle!"

Zanven gulped as Minsc dragged him away. He wasn't sure he was physically capable of withstanding whatever 'butt-kicking' the man had in store for him. "J-Jaheira, please… This isn't necessary. This is silly!"

"Less talk, more fight!"

"Please do be careful with him, Minsc. He's no good broken."

* * *

They had barely been in Nashkel before everybody split up. Khalid mentioned something about meeting with the mayor and Jaheira whisked Zanven away, though not before trying to take Imoen too. Sparring practice? Nope, thanks, but no thanks. It was only because of Tiax she avoided that fate, the gnome dragging her off, mumbling about imparting greatness to her.

Imoen raised a glass of Arabellan Dry to her mouth, taking in casual sips. She didn't much care for it, but it was a familiar flavor. If only there was some Bloodwine around. She always snuck into the stash back home. Winthrop hated her tapping into the pricier drinks, but his grumbling never stopped her. Not like the old fart ever spared his stock from his palate anyway. He dipped into his own ale more than his customers!

"You sure do love your classy establishments, Tiax," Imoen said, leaning back in her chair. "Why, even the name inspires a sense of luxury. The Belching Dragon, ha!"

The thought of a dragon burping tickled her pink. Could dragons even burp? She couldn't remember seeing Peri belch. She filed the thought away, an experiment for another day—and no doubt a looming head ache for the familiar's master.

Tiax waved his hand in a dismissive manner. "There is little choice of taverns in this backwater hole of a town. It should consider itself lucky to have Tiax choose to set foot in it." He took a swig of his own drink, letting out a content hum.

"So the Feldepost Inn sure was lucky to have you waltz in and start a brawl, huh?"

"Bah. When fools accept Tiax's place in the world, all will beg for the chance to attend to him." His eyes were not on Imoen as he spoke, surveying the others seated around him. Their usual crazed gleam was lost, replaced by concentration. He settled on a bearded man drinking alone amidst a table of scrolls. "Watch me, girl."

The gnome got up, gesturing to the man and mouthing words. Imoen heard a whisper, unsure of where it came from, and the man must have heard it as well, for he turned away from his writing and looked over his shoulder. Tiax passed by his table to get another drink, hands swiping some of the papers. On his return, he had another go at his unsavory craft.

"Look and be amazed," Tiax said, setting down his mug and spreading out the spoils of his work: scrolls of notes and a sack of coins. Imoen looked around, afraid someone may have noticed his slippery hands, but Tiax aroused no attention. "A simple task for one so great, but it was for your sake. Pfah, useless scribbles of the Dalelands and a pauper's treasure. Cursed, filthy town and its poverty!"

Tiax's target went back to his work, emptying his drink. Imoen watched him as he spoke with a barmaid, wondering if he noticed his missing items. "Another ale, miss! What? The tab? Erm… eer, yes, the tab. I appear to have misplaced my funds." The barmaid motioned over a bouncer, and he gathered up his things in a hurry and made for the door. Imoen hastily put aside the notes as he passed by them.

Imoen giggled. "Alright, I'll give you that. That was pretty funny. Got a bit of magic in ya?" Oh, if only she had it in her blood! It was wasted on Zanven, the buzzkill, but Tiax knew where it was at. Mix spells and stealth together and there'd be all sorts of fun to be had.

Tiax shrugged. "Gnomish cantrips. Skills befitting one worthy of ascension do more than such spells. Parlor tricks are amusing to Tiax, however, so he spices things up a bit." He leaned forward, leering at her. "It's your turn. How about you redeem yourself in Tiax's eyes? Surely you learned something while watching."

Oh, a challenge was it? She'd show him!

Imoen crossed her arms across her chest. "I ain't no two-bit thief so don't you dare go thinking that! No pockets are safe from me, you'll see. Don't go thinking yours are safe forever neither!"

For all her bluster though, she remained still. She looked around, trying to find someone who looked like they might have something worth nabbing, but found her eyes lingering on the bouncers. She chewed at her thumbnail.

"Tiax is waiting."

Imoen glared at him and surveyed the crowd again. There, that boy would make for a fine target! He was a gawky youth barely old enough to even drink—oh, he'd be an easy one. She downed the last of her wine in a gulp before sauntering across the tavern.

"Oh, you're a handsome one, aint'cha," Imoen said, taking on a slur.

"H-huh? Wha—" Imoen shushed him, a finger to his lips as she took a seat in his lap. Her other hand worked at his chest, tracing circles.

"I'm an adventurer, you know, but killin' monsters is so tiring. There's not enough time on the road for rest, but here…" She laid her head down on his shoulder, desperately trying to resist the urge to laugh as the boy flushed red. This was beyond easy.

"I-I-I…I've been to Baldur's Gate before," he blurted out. "Y-you must've too, being an ad-adventurer, huh?"

"Of course. Quite the city, I thought, but I'm finding Nashkel a bit more interesting right now." One hand played with his hair, covering the actions of her other as it went lower.

"N-nice place, huh?" Silence settled between the two. He broke it with another outburst. "Those colors don't look stoopid on you!"

Imoen laughed, her charade dissolving for a moment, before she reigned in her voice. "Quite the charmer. Thank you."

"You… you like me? Everyone always throws rocks at me and tells me I'm annoying… haven't had a conversation this long ever, either."

She felt a tiny bit of guilt for leading the boy on—he was a bit slower than the rest of Nashkel's residents, but nobody deserved rocks to the head. "Don't you worry, I would never do that. I'll be in town for a while, hows about you try finding me sometime?" She detached herself from the nervous youth, leaving him with a wink as she returned to Tiax.

"Bet that's a little something you couldn't do," she said, all her sultry charm evaporating. She slapped a few coins onto the table and made a face at the paltry amount of money. "It's no war chest, sure, but we didn't agree to a competition on what we got, so don't laugh!"

"Hmmph. An interesting trick, although Tiax does not need feminine wiles to seduce village idiots… Then again, if he was a woman he'd make a fine gnomish courtesan."

Imoen stuck out her tongue. She'd have to stick her head in a forge to burn that image from her brain. "Let's be thankful you're the way you are, Tiax."

* * *

"Minsc,"—Zanven coughed as the bitter liquid went down his throat—"what am I drinking right now?" Eugh, it tasted awful! After being beaten to a pulp and tossed around like a rag doll, his idea of rest didn't involve choking on alcohol. Nasty swill, all of it.

"Bitter Black. It is Boo's favorite, but Minsc does not find it brings enough fire to his belly like jhuild. I shared some jhuild with him before, but Dynaheir did not like that."

Zanven made a show of trying to drink his beer, if only to avoid being rude to the Rashemi warrior. He repulsed a sigh, still not sure what to make of the oddity that was Minsc. The man spoke like Tiax and took council with a rodent—rather, a miniature giant space hamster, a distinction Minsc was quick to point out. Something was missing from his head. In spite of that, the man had a large heart and was friendly beyond anything Zanven was used to.

There was a pattering of feet across the table, hamster and dragon alike, and giggling as Peri chased Boo around. Giggles turned into whines, followed by violent squeaks. "No, Boo! Do not go for the eyes! Ah, Boo treats little Peri like Minsc did you. There is too much love for the fight in us."

Peri retreated to his master, whimpering. "He bit me!"

"You picked a fight with a hamster berserker," Zanven said, hardly able to believe the silliness that came out of his mouth. "What'd you expect? I know that sniffling is fake so you can stop it. I've been battered and bruised all day with nary a complaint."

"Not true," Peri said. "You cried like a baby when Minsc put you in a headlock and then muttered about how you hated everything the whole walk here!" Zanven flicked the dragon's snout, provoking a fight. Peri hopped onto his head, pawing at his hair and flicking his tail all about.

"Oh, woe is me! Boo has bested a dragon before even Minsc, a mighty berserker of the Ice Dragon Lodge! I can only hope that bards everywhere will leave a little room for me in Boo's tales of glory."

Peri scoffed. "I hope those bards make sure to note Boo's a cheater. He fights dirty!"

"You slander the good hamster's honor," Zanven said. Peri snorted and climbed down onto his shoulder.

"Minsc sees we will do much good together. I cannot wait to meet the rest of your friends." His voice dropped to a whisper, as if a child afraid of asking a secret. "They are not all like Jaheira, right? She is fierce, but Min…er, Boo finds her a little scary."

Zanven rubbed his arm and winced. She sure was scary when she was pounding away with her quarter staff. "No. They're not all as bad as her. Jaheira's, um, a special sort." That was putting it nicely. "She should be back with the rest of them soon, once she's done with her business with Mayor Ghastkill."

She had been rather adamant about waiting for her return in the inn while finding Khalid, who had not shown up after the sparring session ended. Whatever business she and her husband had with the town's mayor was obviously meant to be none of his. For the best, he reasoned. It was nice to have a small reprieve from her, even if shoring up their rooms felt like an order.

"The sooner the better so we can rid this town of its evils and then rescue Minsc's Dynaheir!" Zanven wiped away splashes of beer from his face as Minsc smashed his mug against the table. "Without her, Minsc and Boo are lost. The three of us… a trio… a, erm… it is a fancier word Dynaheir taught us."

"Uh, a trinity?"

"Yes! We are a trinity of goodness and honor! We will claim her from the foul dog-men that hold her captive!" The table shook again, withstanding more blows from Minsc's raucousness.

"We'll find her, Minsc, once the problems with the mines are settled."

Zanven had the decency to fake certainty, but the situation did not inspire confidence. Fear gnawed at him. He was not meant for tramping through mines, much less monster hunting; however, it had been him who convinced the skeptical Jaheira to agree to answer the Rashemi's plea so long as he gave them his sword-arm. Both backs would be scratched and both problems solved.

"You will like Dynaheir. She is much smarter than Minsc and Boo combined. She knows all the spirits, all the heroes, every herb and poultice…"

"I, ah… hope so," Zanven said, lost in Minsc's long-winded adoration. "She sounds like delightful company." Being smarter than Minsc and his hamster was not an impressive milestone, and Zanven could not help but wonder if every accolade of Dynaheir's was truth or interpretation through the Minsc's simplified lens. _Please let her at least not address herself like Minsc and Tiax._

A claw tapped his face. "Master, there's someone watching us and smiling. I don't like the look of her." Peri curled his tail around Zanven's neck in a guarded manner.

Zanven choked on his drink, setting the mug down with a shaky hand. His blood turned to ice. "Are you sure she's looking at us?"

"Yes. Can we go, Master?"

"—and that's when the Thayan earned a kick to his red… Zanven, are you leaving?"

Zanven's fingers locked around his staff, finding support as his legs trembled. "Minsc, we need to get out."

"I do not understa—ah, is that one of your friends coming over now? Hello! I am Minsc, a friend of Zanven's like you… oh, you speak too quietly for me to hear your name. What was it?"

It was too late to recognize the hushed words of a spell, and in an instant the room was overwhelmed by screaming voices:

"What's going on?"

"Everything's gone dark!"

"Agh, I can't see!"

"What sneaking evil has taken away Minsc's sight?!"

Pandemonium took sway over the inn. Bodies moved about, knocking over chairs and tables in a confused mess. One voice rose above the chaos, clear and sinister.

"A little darkness does nothing to you, but witnesses can be quite the nuisances. A hunt and chase for a blind whelp? Ha, the Lord of Shadows would renounce me on the spot if I failed like that fool from the Serpent Hills! Easy coins in the purse tonight!"

"Minsc does not need to see evil to smite it!" the berserker roared, throwing up the table and locking Zanven in a protective bear hug. "Whoever you are, you shall not—" Minsc went rigid as his words were cut short, muscles taut around Zanven.

"Put me down, Minsc! Let me go!" Zanven struggled against the hold, confused as to why the man wouldn't budge. The assassin stepped closer with a patronizing chuckle. He craned his neck as a finger traced his cheek.

"A bodyguard, hmm? How quaint." She poked at his face, ending her playfulness with a slap. "I can't help but toy with you. This is so delightfully easy! And this here, a pet of some kind?"

Peri stiffened on Zanven's shoulder, growling. "If Boo can cheat so can I!" He launched at her with a snarl.

"You vile little pest!" the woman cried out in shock. Zanven squirmed in Minsc's grasp and lashed out at her in the confusion, kicking her in the gut. Wriggling some more, he managed to slip free from the muscular prison. Not bothering to tug loose his staff in the crook of Minsc's arm, he stumbled for the door.

This was it: his moment to run and find help! Khalid or Jaheira, the townguard, anybody!

A pained shriek brought his attention to the consequences of fleeing. She'd kill his familiar and Minsc if he ran now!

Zanven forced his way back, struggling to follow the sounds of Peri's assault over the chaos. Closer now, he dove and tackled the woman at the waist. They wrestled across the floor, trying to overpower one another. His muscles strained as she thrashed against him, weaker than hers and sore from the day's practice, and she managed to pin him to the ground.

A club smashed into his head, stunning him, and pounded his arms as he tried to fend off the frenzied attacks. Each blow seemed to renew the woman's fury as she howled curses. Blood poured over his face and an arm bent under the pressure with a crack.

Magic swirled around his free hand and leapt from his fingers, knocking her off him. Pressing the advantage, another blast of energy flew from him as he fell onto her. Sprawled atop her, he tried to keep her down and away from the club that clattered to the floor. She fought as if a wild beast, punching and clawing to get the lighter boy off of her.

_Gods above and hells below, what am I doing?! She's going to kill me! Think, something, anyth_—he screamed as she twisted his mangled arm, thoughts shattering at the agonizing sensation. She overtook him, working into a sitting position and locking around him. He felt hot with pain.

_Why is she trying to kill me?_ Even as she pulled at his arm he wondered about the reasoning behind his bounty. _What have I done to her, to anybody?_

Anger surged within him. _Who is she to kill me?_

Zanven leaned forward and brought his head back in a rush, connecting with her own. Her grip loosened in surprise and he head-butted her again, knocking her onto her back. Before she could fight back, he crawled on top of her. He held his hand over her, the heat of anger greater than pain.

_Who is she to kill me?!_

Flames spread out from him. She contorted to buck him off, her shouting frenzied no longer in bloodlust but suffering. She twisted and turned to no avail, pinned underneath the stream of fire. He kept his hand above her even after the fire died away. Her screaming had stopped and the sizzling of flesh rang in his ears, blocking out everything else. It was strangely satisfying.

Zanven slumped over her, a wisp of a smile on his face. A part of him found her screams enjoyable. They were music, though a shame their musician played no longer.


	5. Chapter 5

Even with her head swimming with cheap wine, Imoen could make enough sense of the chaos streaming from the town's inn to know something was terribly wrong. People clambered over one another, a wave of bodies flooding out in a desperate bid to escape from the building. A wavering blackness prevented her from getting a good look within. Smoke wafted from the entrance, bringing with it a stench that caused her to gag. Hand over her mouth to reign in the urge to throw up, she made out Jaheira and Khalid dashing into the fray.

Jaheira returned, cradling Zanven in her arms, and Khalid followed behind, dragging along a big man—struggling, too, as the larger man's body wouldn't cooperate with him. Her mouth moved, fighting inebriation to articulate questions that fell upon deaf ears. Jaheira had paid her no mind, leaving the girl staring, mouth still open, as she hurried away with Zanven's limp body. Imoen looked to Khalid as he made sure the stranger was alright. There was steel in his eyes, an unfamiliar edge behind the orbs that frightened her.

"C-come on, we've no t-time to waste," Khalid said, grabbing hold of her hand as he rushed after his wife. Imoen's legs wobbled, caught up in trying to keep pace with the man's haste. Were it not for his grip locked around her wrist keeping her upright, she would have been dragged through the dirt.

"I don't understand. What happened?" Imoen asked. "He's… okay, right?" Khalid smiled, straining in a valiant effort to ward off a frown. He squeezed her hand and kept her alongside him.

The pair flew down the road, following a path through rows of tombstones and into the towered building at the end. Delayed senses put things together in a malaise. He was taking her to the Temple of Helm. Only the sick and the hurt needed to go there. The dead, too.

Imoen blanched. She looked up into the symbol of Helm, the unnerving eye staring back at her. It offered nothing to her in its solemn gaze, a neutral presence to the mortals and their quandaries below.

_You better do something,_ Imoen warned. _You'll make him right as rain or I'll come up there and poke that big, ugly eye of yours right out!_

* * *

His blood surged as magic ran through his veins, spells begging for his command to be unleashed. It was euphoric, a tingling sensation rising from deep within and washing over him. He drank in the excitement, arms held out to his sides and back arched. This was how one truly experienced the arcane: having it flow from one's very essence!

No wizard could understand magic on the same level. They had their books; he had his blood. Not even his foster father, no matter how powerful a wizard he was, could share in fully understanding the gift of sorcery—though how powerful was he really to have had the might of his spells quieted by a blade?

Shameful. Pitiful. Humiliating. He had called such a weakling his father and tutor? The Gods surely laughed at him for letting a cantrip-riddled codger make a mockery of teaching the arcane. Impotent orcwit, served him right to be cut to ribbons!

Zanven marveled at the fire dancing between his fingers, a flame in each open palm. A whimper drew his attention away, his lips curling in a predatory smirk. Ah, another musician. Let the music play.

He stood over his victim, delighting in the fear. He toyed with the emotion—and such a malleable one it was—as he altered the fires in his hands. They changed, one moment tiny flames no bigger than that of a lit candle and the next flaring up into roaring pillars. The first blast licked at the helpless wreck beneath him, a playful gust of heat. The second followed suit, far more forceful—oh, a scream this time! A third, fourth, fifth time he commanded the fire to burn, again and again guiding the searing power to torture the poor soul. His laughed with every scream, egged on by the pain he caused.

This was the way of things! It was his right to put others in their place and show them what magical hell he could call down upon them! Let them burn, let them die, let them—no. Something inside of him roared in disgust, fighting against his sensibilities before giving way and vanishing.

This… this was wrong. How was this something to take joy in?

At once his exhilaration left him. It was disturbing to realize he enjoyed the torture. Zanven dispelled the flames, though the screaming continued. He recognized the voice now, familiarity no longer clouded by sadism.

He had heard it before. It had sung lullabies to put him to sleep, soothing the restlessness of childhood. It had lectured him, stern yet gentle with criticism of wrongdoings. It had praised him, instilling pride and confidence after successes earned. Anguish gripped his heart.

Gods, no! No, no, no!

"No, please! Father, I didn't mean to! I didn't know!" Zanven collapsed, hugging Gorion's charred body. Frantic hands patted at the blistered skin. This was his doing. He had laughed and teased his own father as he burned him to death. "I'm sorry, please! I'm so sorry!" He choked on tears, a sobbing wreck.

Zanven could feel the presence of another near him, bathing him in light. It was close, kneeling at his side. It took up his hands and placed them on Gorion. The guiding force invoked a wave of warmth and he fought against it, trying to wrench away and contain the magic. He had done enough with his sorcery! The force held him, continuing to move his hands across Gorion's ruined flesh. It was making him commit his awful deed again!

Blisters disappeared as his hands glided across them. Leathery skin smoothened out, unstiffening at his touch. Flesh formed where it had been burned to the bone. Delirious, Zanven struggled against what controlled him. He shook and cried, not registering that he was undoing the damage he caused.

It had been his touch that caused this. He was a killer. He was desecrating the body—Gorion's body. He writhed, unable to break free. _I don't want this! I've caused enough trouble!_

"My child." Zanven went rigid at Gorion's voice. "Be still. I am here. Shh, be calm now." The back of Gorion's hand touched his cheek.

"Y-you are… alive?"

How was it possible? He had engulfed the man in an inferno. He had felt the wounds, brushed his fingers against the charred remains. The presence and its light left him, leaving him alone with Gorion.

Gorion pulled Zanven into an embrace. "Oh, my child."

Zanven pressed his face into Gorion's shoulder as he was rocked like a babe. He was here. He was alive. No assassin had cut him down. No fire had consumed him. Nothing had stolen Gorion away from him. He was right here, alive and well.

* * *

"Is he okay yet? Oh, he's moving around again! Master, please wake up!"

"Come on now, leave him be. He'll be up before you know it."

"I don't know…"

"Of course. _Before _you know it, I said! Don't you go doubtin' me. Come here."

The force nuzzling into Zanven's side was lifted away, and the injured youth roused, struggling to sit up. His head felt like an ogre had been using it as a drum, one disinclined toward a skilled display of music. His arm was bandaged up in a splint. The dream lingered within his mind. Awake and sitting in a daze, reality crawled back to him.

"See, am I ever wrong? He just needed to rest and—hey, give him his space! Be careful of his arm!"

A small body hopped onto the bed, too amped to remain still. Wings fluttered, a tail swished, and claws pawed at the bed. "You're back, you're back! I thought you'd never wake up!"

Zanven winced at his familiar's screeching. The dragon's voice amplified his headache, but what fault was there in his exuberance? "Yup, still here. A little worse for wear though." He maneuvered himself so Peri wasn't upsetting his bad arm and tentatively poked at the bandages around his head.

"Thank all the gods, every which one of them," Imoen said, hesitating in contemplation. "Well, not the bad ones, but you know that goes without saying."

"And yet you said it anyway."

"Shove it, mister! I didn't watch over you and your lizard worrying that you'd be in bed forever just to get sass when you woke up." Mock anger tinged Imoen's voice before melting away. "Really though, none of us knew when you'd come to. We've all been fretting, even Jaheira. After she pulled you out of the inn, all smashed up and broken, she's been hounding that Helmite to make sure his healing would fix you up."

Zanven frowned. Jaheira? Fretting over him? He'd sooner believe he woke up to the world ending than having received sympathy from her. "How long have I been out for?"

"It's been a couple of days. I, uh, guess whoever she was she put quite the beating to you… although you gave it back to her and then some." There was a hitch in Imoen's voice, a palpable discomfort hanging in the air. "Nobody seems to know exactly what happened, though we've all had our go at guessing after seeing the body. Were she still alive, that assassin would have thought twice about tryin' to off ya."

The struggle returned to him in a flash. His blood boiled under his skin. A familiar power coursed within, ready to burst on its own. The assassin's cries rang in his ears and then melded with those of Gorion's. He lurched forward, clutching his head between his legs. Shock-addled words spilled from his mouth, nothing sensible in the midst of fear.

Make it stop! Make it go away! Hadn't the dream been enough?

"Whoa, hey! Take it easy now," Imoen said, touching his shoulder and steadying him. At her touch, the nightmare was driven away. "You were like that while you were out. Tossed and turned, mumbling and crying out. You'd glow a bit too, sometimes a little and then other times boom—a great big flash, bright as could be."

Zanven composed himself, trying to slow his gasps. The rush of panic dissipated, taking with it the heat and leaving only echoes of the screams. He leaned back, resting against the headboard. "I had dreams of it, of killing her. That assassin." He paused at Imoen's sharp intake of breath. "I had another, too… similar, but-but it was Gorion instead of her. Oghma help me, I dreamed of killing my father!"

He had enjoyed it thoroughly. He had liked it when they sizzled beneath him, little more than screaming husks of char. That part remained unsaid, shame keeping him quiet. How could he bring those words to his lips? How could he have thought such a thing to begin with?

Imoen wrapped an arm around him. "It was all in your head. Just sleep terrors. I… I know it might not mean much coming from my end, but they're just dreams, nothing more. You know you did no such thing."

"I burned him up, just like that woman, and then something brought him back to me, used my hands to heal him. He was alive again, Imoen." His voice cracked, composure faltering.

"It was just a nightmare. No matter how bad, it wasn't real." Imoen squeezed him in a hug. They sat together for a moment, trading no words.

"I don't know how I did it," Zanven said after a while, breaking the silence. "I've never conjured flames before, not like that. She had me, could've killed me, and then it just flared up out of my hand. I controlled it in my dreams though, like I had done it a thousand times before."

"I guess it's good you did it whether you meant to or not, huh? I mean… she's done for and it's her, not you, picking out a coffin. Do you think you could do it again if you wanted? I know your magic's all different, so maybe it just needed something to get it to click?"

He opened his mouth to correct her, prepared to criticize her naïveté on magic, but closed it. That wasn't entirely too far from the truth in how he found himself accessing new parts of the Weave, though he'd be less a layman in describing it. Sorcery tended to be a funny thing; however, he had never cast any spells in such a manner before.

"I really don't know." He wasn't even sure that he wanted to be able to do it again. It was the first instance of new magic coming to him in the act of killing, appearing solely to end the life of another. A spell had thwarted the previous assassin, but he had learned and practiced it before that moment. This occurrence worried him, and he felt sullied by it.

A dull ache in his arm brought his attention to the splint. It did not hurt that much, just enough to remind him he had suffered an injury. His head pounded less as well, with exhaustion fast clearing away. It was nothing like the pain during his assault. He found it curious; even with divine magic, shouldn't his injuries have caused him more inconvenience during their recovery?

Zanven moved his splinted arm, giving it a closer inspection, but Imoen chastised him. "Stop that! It won't heal right if you keep messing with it, and the same goes for your head. You already need to give it a couple weeks, even with Helm's blessings, so don't go making it worse."

"What? Weeks?" He deflated at being out of commission for such a length of time. It wasn't like the thought of heading down into mines or a fortress of gnolls was enticing, but having to sit around doing nothing in Nashkel would be awful. It also made him quite the easy target for all those bounty-seeking maniacs. It was bad enough they had no problems finding him thrice already with him on the move. They had a better idea of where he was going than him.

He didn't have, nor wanted, that time. Imoen protested again as he started actively toying with the sling, but he had it off of his arm before she could stop him. For how mangled his arm had been, it felt strangely fine without the stability of the splint. He stretched it, bending it at the elbow that had been smashed days prior. It felt no different than when Jaheira had battered him with her staff; sure, it ached, but no more than a troublesome bruise.

"How are you doing that without crying like a baby? You're not that tough. You should be giving a banshee a run for its money right now," Imoen said, unable to mask her surprise. Zanven muttered under his breath, but Imoen dismissed it. "No, seriously, even after getting your arm into that thing it was still pretty messed up. It was all swollen and misshaped, like somebody stuck something under your skin. Here, lemme see your arm. No bruises, no nasty colors, no nothing! You go an' call upon a miracle when I wasn't looking?"

His shoulders lifted up in a shrug. He ran a hand over his elbow, feeling no signs of the injury he had received. Nothing poked out. Nothing flared up at the touch. The dream nagged at him, his hands gliding over Gorion's skin at another force's guidance. A miracle indeed.

"You start throwing out fire, lighting up in your sleep, and now this. Always the weird one, Angelboy." Imoen whistled. "You've gone and taken the whole cake and left none for me. Wish I was half as strange as you."

"I highly doubt that." He had had enough of all the oddities. Far too many questions were popping up with never an answer to go along with them.

* * *

There was nothing gentle about Jaheira's inspection as she kept Zanven from his morning meal, moving his arm and prodding his head. He almost managed to get the fork into his mouth that time before his arm was pulled back. Imoen chuckled, though she silenced her mirth when her friend's frown deepened. By the looks of it, he'd never smile again—definitely not while Jaheira continued to play cleric.

"I told you, I _do_ _not_ know. I don't, I really don't! It just happened," Zanven said, drawing a grunt from the woman. "I woke up like this. What more do you want me to say? Now please, is it too much to ask that you let me finish eating?"

"Things simply do not 'just happen'. Gorion often spoke of your peculiarities, but nothing of this," Jaheira said, brow furrowing. Sheesh, just when you thought she couldn't look any grumpier! Zanven bristled, but Jaheira continued. "Wounds like yours do not heal in a matter of days, no matter the skill of the priest. I'd sooner believe you had troll blood than accept a random miracle, fortunate as it may be."

"D-dear—" Khalid hesitated when Jaheira turned her eyes onto him, pausing under her glare to restore his nerve. "It is p-pointless to get yourself worked up over it. Let's leave it a miracle for now so the b-both of you can eat." He gestured toward her untouched plate, keeping his gaze down.

His wife gave a final huff before ending her examination and took a seat. Khalid busied himself with his own meal, a smile creeping across his face. He continued to avoid looking at her. "I wonder if you'd starve without me sometimes." Jaheira cuffed his shoulder, mouth turned upward.

"Bhalla must have watched over you," Minsc said, his booming voice causing Imoen's head to turn. It'd take some time getting used to traveling alongside that mountain of a man. "Surely Dynaheir will know more about it once we rescue her."

"Your witch knows nothing. The answer already lies before you anyway," Tiax said, much to the large warrior's annoyance.

"Do not speak ill of Dynaheir, else—"

"Are you all so dumb not to see it was Tiax's will that put his wounded servant back together? Count yourselves lucky he has woven you into the tapestry of his destiny and perhaps such miracles shall become more commonplace. " There was a collective eye roll around the table.

Imoen locked eyes with Minsc, pointing to Tiax and spinning a finger in circles near her head. It'd do the gnome good to be on the receiving end of the warrior's 'butt-kicking' if he ended up crossing the line. There was a startling lack of humility in Tiax's ascension that she was more than happy to witness.

Zanven scrunched his face up. "I'd rather believe I've troll blood in me than that…"

"That's just Tiax talk, you know that. Don't'chu worry," Imoen said, drawing a snort from the gnome. She stuck her tongue out at him. "I think you guys are all just wound up too tight around this. Someone tried killing Zanven, she's dead, and now he doesn't miss out on all the adventurin'!"

"There would have been no… adventuring… for either of you had his recovery not happened so swiftly," Jaheira said, mulling over Imoen's wording.

Imoen pouted. "What, and why not?" Ha, just let the fuddy-duddy try and keep her staying put! If Candlekeep and its walls couldn't hold her, what made her think she could succeed when a fortress could not?

"I would have had you stay back to watch over him and made certain the Church of Helm would not suffer another one of his hunters. I wonder still that I have not stayed that course."

"I wager they'll come to surprise you," Khalid said in the face of his wife's gruffness. He flashed Imoen a wink and a grin. Jaheira shook her head. Imoen beamed at him, pleased that Jaheira's frown grew that much more. Night and day, the couple was.

"Well, in that case perhaps lucky doesn't begin to describe it," Zanven said. "I should thank you for saving me from having to endure Imoen's guardianship. I can think of no worse fate than her as a babysitter."

Imoen narrowed her eyes, sifting through the sarcasm directed at Jaheira to find her slight. She scooped up a spoonful of porridge and let it loose, unable to contain her joy at the wet smack it made when it hit Zanven's cheek. The look on his face was priceless! "No sass, I said!"

Jaheira shot Khalid a look. "You never were the best gambler."

* * *

Rocks were everywhere. Broken stones littered the ground, dust clouded the air, and worst of all one pebble in particular had decided to find its way into her boot. With every step, Imoen cursed the inconvenience. It did not take long to realize this adventure lacked the flair of what she had created in her head as they all made their way into the quarry. Mine cart tracks stretched onward into the earth below, giving them a path to follow.

The group passed by a shack with carts around it, all containing varying amounts of ore. Imoen grabbed a chunk, looking it over before passing it on for the others to observe. "No wonder everybody's been talking about an iron shortage. Just look at this stuff." The metal's normal greyish coloring had a green tone to it. Blemishes riddled the ore, its exterior covered in pockmarks and crisscrossed by cracks. She shook her hands to rid them of the green flakes that coated her hand from handling it.

"Worthless, the lot of it," a voice said, belonging to an armed guard. There were two others, the trio all garbed in splint mail and crested helms in Amnian fashion. The speaker leaned against his spear, regarding them with a lazy air. "Everything pulled out of the mines now is like that, nothing but garbage that falls apart after a single swing of the pick. You're welcome to take all of it off our hands as souvenirs if you'd like, though I can't imagine that's what you're here for."

"You are correct," Jaheira said, stepping forward. "We've come to look into the happenings here to figure out what's plaguing the mines."

"More adventurers, huh? I figured as much." The guard waved the others away back to their posts before turning back and heaving a sigh. "You weren't the first and I doubt you'll be the last. There was another who came saying the same thing, but we haven't seen the elf for months. Lost some good Nashkel souls too, the copper brawn. Normally Emerson would be raking all of you folk over the coals for stomping around, but we lost him a week ago. He was the head of the mines until he thought he could fix them by his own hand. He found nothing but red ink and now he's dead."

"What c-can you tell of us the problems here?" Khalid asked.

The guard shrugged, a defeated look crossing his face. "Nobody really knows. I've heard a different story every time. Demons, dragons, ghosts, the list goes on. Most of it is just the miners being spooked, but whatever it is, it's real. I can tell you one thing for sure, this place lost the pearl. I hope you lot can be the ones to fix that."

They were led to the entrance of the mines, the mouth of the tunnel greeting them with flickering torchlights and feint clinking of tools at work. Imoen crowded Zanven as the group passed beneath the earth, trying to banish away the unsettling feeling from being underground. She wasn't afraid, definitely not. Imoen and fear never belonged in the same sentence together. No way there was an ounce of fear in her. It was just that the buddy system was tried and true; might as well stick with what worked.

* * *

"Imoen, please!" Zanven said, struggling to wrench his arm away from her grip. He pulled his arm one way, but all it succeeded in doing was dragging her with it. They stumbled and almost fell, legs entangled in one another's path. "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" Was she having a go at him, now of all times?

"No!" Imoen said right away. "Sorry, it's dark in here and I'm falling all over rocks, tracks, and-and, well"—her voice went up a pitch and she coughed—"nothing, nothing. Look, sorry." A grunt came from the rear, Jaheira signaling them to be quieter.

She released him and moved away for a short while, though it did not take long until she gravitated back toward him. He heaved a sigh, realizing it was a lost cause. It was strange enough he already had another tied to him, quite literally; it had been Jaheira's idea to have rope connecting him with his familiar, the cord wrapped around his wrist to the dragon scampering in front of him. He scoffed at the leash; however, she had been very adamant about avoiding being led astray within the underground tunnels. Peri's amusement had tamed his master's resistance to the idea, and the little dragon had no qualms with tugging him along.

Trekking underground was a different beast than having the sky over one's head, and it made Zanven uneasy. He spent most of his time indoors in Candlekeep, but the sun's touch was only a walk through the library doors away—not a walk he had often made, though the option was there. Moving ever deeper below Nashkel, not even the brightest ray of sunlight could penetrate the earth. It was obvious it made another uncomfortable, judging by how Imoen all but made herself a second skin. The air had a funny taste to it, smothering in its staleness, and the sound of their footfalls echoed with miners at work trying to extract whatever untainted iron they could find. Toss in the threat of something behind Nashkel's troubles and it was a wonder at all that anybody ventured into this place.

Zanven jumped out of his skin when a loud wail pierced the monotony of pick strikes, jerking on Peri's rope in fright. A flurry of footsteps neared them, accompanied by more wailing and a ragged voice. "Come back! You know I'm no demon, you old fool!"

A pair of men all but plowed into the group. One apologized profusely, his stream of sorries only interrupted by him scolding the other's babbling. "Say, you aren't guards," he said, regarding them with suspicion. It melted away with a sigh. "Gotta be adventurers, although I suppose you could just be trespassing. Both're liable to make sure you end up rotting down here. Either way, it's pretty stupid if you ask me. About as stupid as thinking mining was the way to go." He laughed, a derisive bark interrupted by a fit of coughing.

"There is no stupidity in uprooting those hiding in dens of stinking evil," Minsc said.

"A den… of evil, yes, yes! Filled with great big beasts and corpses on fire! Fallen, all fallen everywh—" A thud turned the other miner's gibberish into a whimper.

"Quit it with your nonsense! A guard would've hit you harder for less." The man clicked his tongue. "Used to have a brain up in that skull, but he's spent far too long breathing bad air down here. He's only gotten worse lately, with all the issues."

"B-be that as it may," Khalid said, "is there any truth at all to what your friend has said? If we were to know m-more, anything at all, it'd help."

"With him, you never know. About all he's good for is swinging a pick nowadays. He screams on and on about all sorts of things. Only days before, he swore it was three demons causing the problems down here, hunting for magic rocks. Now it's whatever he just went on about… although, his mind be damned, something had been after him when he strayed too far deep. Saw the guards who rescued him myself, dead as could be.

"Take from it what you will. We've work to get back to." The miner shooed along his companion, leaving more questions in his wake.

Tiax broke the silence as they moved onward, his shrill laugh an unwelcome surprise. "They're all mad down here!"

* * *

They crowded around the body while Khalid examined the dead miner. "It's a fresh k-kill. The body's still warm, so whatever shot these arrows may still b-be around. We b-best tread carefully."

Zanven's skin crawled. It was easier to traverse the mines when the danger felt like played up rumors. "Arrows? I imagine we can cross dragons and ghosts off of the list then." Not that he really believed in them to begin with, but something was down here.

"Don't forget about the demons," Imoen added.

"All of it nothing more than wild stories," Jaheira said. "However, whatever killed this man has proven how real it is. Stay alert."

"Minsc and Boo shall be extra on guard for evil hiding in every crevice."

"Tiax does not need a hamster to avoid ending up like this fool. He has died and escaped Tiax's inevitable rule so his killers shall answer for it. Whatever is hiding will learn to tremble in Tiax's presence."

The deeper they descended into the mines, the less noise they heard. The rhythmic sound of metal colliding with stone faded away. Traces of conversations no longer floated through the tunnels, save for their own—except when Jaheira shushed any noise she deemed unnecessary, something Imoen and Tiax objected to. Their pace had slowed considerably, ready to confront foes at a moment's notice, until they halted again. More bodies.

"Watch your step, this path leads across a lake," Khalid said. "These men are armed. G-guards from the looks of it. Minsc, come with me. We'll scout ahead."

Zanven stayed back with the others, shifting his weight from foot to foot while the two investigated the new corpses. He let out a shaky breath, one he hardly realized he was holding, and it was only when Peri let out a pained cry that he noticed he was tugging the rope much too tight. Now it was he who stood a little closer to Imoen.

Minsc's voice rose up, loud enough to shake the caverns. "What is this? Something has snagged against my boot, a wire of some sort?" A jingle tinkled in the air; strange there would be bells down here.

"M-Minsc," Khalid began, worry filling his words, "watch for those crevices."

Jaheira pulled her charges close. "Stay close, you two."

The ringing died down, replaced by a growing chorus of growls and hisses. Rocks tumbled around them, the floor shaking from a wave of footfalls. Battle roars erupted from the other side of the path, Minsc and Khalid's voices mixing with that of multiple creatures. Arrows whizzed through the air, singing their deadly song.

"Blast," Tiax screamed, his sling whistling. "Garl should have ended these wretches when he had the chance! Kurtulmak's kin shall find no such mercy from Cyric's chosen!"

Jaheira shoved Zanven to the ground, grunting in pain from an arrow's impact, and proceeded to send Imoen down too. "Do not let yourselves be easy targets!" The gibbering of the creatures approached them from their side, clashing against the bulwark Jaheira presented. Squeals of pain followed after every dull thwack, her staff leaving far worse injuries than the bruising he had dealt with. Water splashed up around them, some knocked aside into the lake.

Imoen tugged Zanven's arm. "Try it again, use your fire!"

"I can't, I don't know… where, where?" Zanven said, words tumbling from his mouth. He hesitated to call upon the spell. Imoen bore down on him, their heads bumping together as she flattened herself down to avoid the arrows flying their way.

"They're all right in front of Jaheira. Oh gods, there's so many of 'em! Peri, show him where!" Zanven crawled toward Jaheira, following the tugged rope. He tried to get up to his knees, but multiple times Imoen dragged him back down. "Be quicker about it! Hurry or you'll be a pin cushion!"

"I'm trying!" Exasperation and fear got his blood pumping. He had maneuvered himself as best he could and held his hands in front of him, trying to will the magic to his command. Nothing happened. No spell came to him. He fretted, his nerve spilling from him as he waved his hands in futility—come on, out with already!

"What are you doing?" Jaheira asked, incredulous at his odd display. "You are in the way! Get down before you get yourself killed!" She pushed against him, trying to put herself between him and the creatures. He pushed back as a burning sensation came to him, careful to keep his hands away from her. His fingers danced, twisting in the summoned flames, and then they flicked outward. The burst of fire was quick, but judging by the frightened hissing he had hit the mark.

A nagging voice in the back of his head stewed over having no time to revel in the flames, its euphoria snatched away by Jaheira knocking him down again. Claws scratched at the stone wildly, dashing away from Jaheira's staff and the fire. Minsc's war cries overwhelmed everything, coming out with such fury that Zanven doubted anything dared to stand against the warrior any longer.

Zanven stood up only when a helping hand lifted him from the ground, awkwardly leaning against his staff. He gave the rope around his wrist a quick tug to make sure Peri was alright, receiving a coo in response. His heart pounded within his chest. The ambush was far too much excitement for his taste.

"You did it again!" Imoen chirped. "Scared them right off. Those lizards didn't know what hit 'em! Great big beasts my foot!"

"They burned quite nicely. Your magic is useful," Tiax said. "Tiax shall use you to purge those unworthy of his radiance."

Pride swelled within him at the compliments. There was no hiding—well, not as much hiding this time. Those creatures certainly did not sneeze at his sorcery. He opened his mouth, preparing to demand Jaheira's approval, when his ear was caught in a firm grip.

"Of all the reckless things to do!" That was not approval of any kind. "Endangering not only yourself, but your companions too? I've half a mind to throw you into the water and let you sink!" Jaheira was furious. If her tone was not indicative of it, her nearly tearing his ear off from the side of his head was.

No matter how much he twisted and turned, Jaheira's fingers remained locked onto his ear in a pinching vice. "We're all still standing, aren't we—ow, ow, let go already! Something had to be done!"

"Your hand waving could have ended with a single arrow. What if you had ignited an ally? If your spell failed to cast, as it seemed to do so? You are not immune to danger and could have been a fatal distraction."

Even at her mercy, he huffed. With assassins on his heels, the last thing he needed was to be told the reality of dangers. They had survived an ambush, one he played a crucial role in no matter her protests, and she rewarded him with a lecture. "Yes, well, my hand waving saved you, didn't it? How many of those things were over you? It sure sounded like quite a bunch."

"It-it was my idea. I told him to do it," Imoen said in a subdued whisper. "It was only to help."

"Foolishness. Absolute foolishness."

"Listen," Khalid said, easing himself into the fight before his wife went on another rant. He took in deep breaths, trying to wear away the adrenaline of battle. "Let us stay a while. A short rest would d-do us well. We can backtrack a bit and prepare for any more ambushes now that we know our enemy. It is unwise to blunder through k-kobold caves."

Jaheira released him and his hand shot up to rub at his ear. He had done nothing wrong. Was he supposed to bury his head into the ground until she deemed it safe enough? A thanks was in order, but he'd be waiting a millennia for that to happen. As enticing as cowardice had been in the heat of the moment, he stumbled to Jaheira's defense. Just a small bit of recognition, perhaps even an ounce of gratitude, didn't seem so unreasonable a request.

* * *

Author's Notes: Some tidbits on the Amnian phrases. Perhaps it's because I'm a big nerd (aren't we all though?), I'm interested in language/accents/dialects. It was pretty cool to delve into Faerun's side of it, even in the short window in which I used them. Lots of time spent reading up on some of the old ADnD pdfs I could scrounge up, and even more spent just getting plain sidetracked because I don't know when to stop reading!

_copper:_ implies someone of low status, or a good worker

_brawn:_ bit of a polite way to call someone expendable, or cannon fodder essentially

_red ink_: bad luck

_lost the pearl:_ another phrase for bad luck


	6. Chapter 6

There had to be at least a dozen of the creatures, all of them swarming out of the rocks. One moment nothing, then they appeared from the walls. They were so small, even smaller than those blue goblins—xvarts, Tiax had said?—but had attacked with a sudden ferocity, though it melted away once their ambush met stiff resistance. It was hard to attribute such hostility to creatures that looked like humanoid versions of Peri, scrawny and scaly as they were. Imoen couldn't get their glassy eyes out of her head, the stares of the dead stuck in her mind as they trudged away from the lake.

The group had double backed to recuperate. Imoen winced as Jaheira dealt with the arrow that pierced her armor. Khalid was at his wife's side, but she waved him off. She watched Jaheira pull out the arrow, hearing the muted grunt that accompanied its removal. Jaheira caught her stares, giving her a questioning grimace, and Imoen looked away. She continued to sneak fascinated glances at how the older woman worked her healing magic, seeing it again after she had helped the Helmite mend Zanven. There was a story to be told about Jaheira's talents that she'd wheedle out of her; perhaps so when she was braver to engage the solemn woman.

"You think that is special?" Tiax asked, planting himself next to her and Zanven. "Tiax is capable of far greater powers than that. It is in his interest to keep his servants alive after all."

"So you say," Zanven said, stifling a groan.

"Scoff at the blessings of Tiax at your own risk! You shine only because of his mercy." Tiax waved a hand above his head, mimicking a halo, and then pointed at Minsc. "Even that brute and his vermin still stand because of Tiax's power. A waste though if he continues to move those bodies around. As if it does the dead any good, ha!"

Imoen cocked her head, staring him down. "Oh, is that so? Your healing helped him, huh? I'm pretty sure neither he nor Khalid needed your help, since , y'know, they barely suffered a scratch between the two of them. Bet the most you can do is patch up a broken nose."

The gnome spluttered. "Tiax will strike you down if it is proof you need, girl! You're under his wing, but he shall not stand for such insolence!"

"Stop that," Zanven said, drawing a grumble from both of them. "Go help Jaheira with her injury if you're set on proving anything, or help Minsc with those bodies."

As if the madman would tear himself away to do something useful. No, not when he had an unwilling audience to force himself upon.

"No, they don't need help. The harpy is fine and it is a waste of time to give corpses a 'good' death. They've left Tiax's influence and don't deserve whatever barbaric customs that giant is sharing with them. Tiax shall leave them to rot. Fitting for those slain by kobolds."

Imoen put her head in her hands. Here they were being provided a moment of rest and of course Tiax had to go and ruin it by pestering them. She sighed and lifted her head up. "Alright then, Mister Chosen One. How about this? Tell us about kobolds since you know so much." There was no way he was going to leave them be, so she might as well make him enlighten her on the monsters they encountered.

"Scaly sacks of manure that have no place in Tiax's world once he rules." Tiax crossed his arms, petulant as a child. He showed no signs of sharing anything more with them, instead occupied with pulling at his beard with quick, angry tugs.

"Come on. I know you've got more to tell than that. Spill the beans, Tiax." Oh no, she wouldn't accept his silence, not after he intruded. If he was going to barge in on her moment of rest, he was going to play by her rules.

"You're a gnome, there's enough bad blood between your kinds for you to have something to share," Zanven said. Imoen smiled—she had him interested too if he brought to bear what was in those old tomes. "In the ambush, you mentioned Garl. Garl Glittergold, right? I know of him, the patron god of gnomes, and... Kurtulmak was it?"

It was like pulling teeth trying to get Tiax to talk, and for a moment Imoen thought he would remain stubborn. He was quick to dash that thought. "Nothing but false gods leading hordes of infidels! Kurtulmak"—Tiax let out a howl of laughter—"as if a kobold could taste divinity!" He kept laughing, oblivious to his companions' chagrin over the noise. "Garl once held sway over Tiax, but Tiax tired of wallowing in stagnation. He broke free from the blood-chains binding him to the Heathen King of Gnomes, and now he follows Cyric in the shade of the Black Sun."

Imoen shifted, uncomfortable by the change in Tiax's demeanor. All the god talk was enough to make her skin itch, but the Cyric praising took on a sinister quality far from Tiax's usual madness. "How's that have anything to do with kobolds?"

"They're merely a lesser race too dumb enough to leave their betters alone." Tiax clammed up again until Imoen gestured for him to tell more, nearly bursting with frustration—why couldn't he just give a straight answer! "The fools think themselves dragonkin, and their false god Kurtulmak leads them in their delusions. The story goes that he crafted an impressive mine, one with caverns full of ores and gems that even gods desired, and housed his wretches there. Nonsense all of it, the stupid creature must've found someone else's work and those dumb enough to believe—"

Imoen coughed loudly. "More story, less insulting tangents."

Tiax glared at her interruption, his stare intensifying when she shrugged. It wasn't her fault he made for a crummy bard. "The gods fawned over Kurtulmak's riches, amazed at the hoard he accumulated for his people. One such god was the Gnomefather, whose greed led to jealousy over a kobold creating something so grand. Any other gnome would tell you differently, that Garl was captured and made victim by Kurtulmak, but Tiax sees past their lies. They hide behind a curtain of goodness, but their god acted upon hate, bringing Kurtulmak's mine crashing down and burying koboldom under its rubble. The suffering of kobolds is no real loss, but Garl and his Jewels refuse their destruction, unlike Tiax's lord."

"First the mine is awe-inspiring, even to the gods, and then kobolds are incapable of anything. Why would Garl be jealous of one's work then?" Zanven asked. "Your story is jumbled. Whose side of it are you telling?"

"That's how the story goes! It is said Kurtulmak created a grand mine and Garl Glittergold ruined it. Ask a gnome, and they'll say Garl did no harm. Ask a kobold, if you can make sense of their yapping, and they'll say Kurtulmak was cheated. Ask Tiax, and he'll tell you it's all hogwash meant to glorify heathen gods."

If Imoen rolled her eyes anymore, she was sure they'd fall right out of their sockets. "Why am I not surprised that is what Tiax would say?"

"Kobolds are skulking abominations who deserve to live under rocks and that is that!" Tiax stood up in a huff, muttering as he secluded himself away from them.

"Well, darn." Imoen snapped her fingers. "He doesn't want to chat with us anymore. Shame, that."

"I think Tiax cleared up everything we ever needed to know about kobolds," Zanven said dryly. "We can thank him later now that we know enough to call out Winthrop's jokes."

"Oh no, those weren't jokes. Puffguts really does have kobolds living beneath the inn brewing up all of his alcohol!" Imoen drowned out Zanven's groan with laughter.

* * *

Imoen wiped her brow and shook the sweat off her hand, registering it with a disgusted frown. It sure had gotten hotter down here. Had the kobolds a dragon down here after all, snorting hot air at them the whole way down? She watched Peri hopping along, his attitude not tempered by the harsh mines, and struggled to imagine a large dragon breathing fire. The storied dragons were all big nasty brutes, nothing at all like Zanven's tiny goofball.

The familiar had no problems crawling over the mine tracks, while she was lucky to keep her balance. It must help to be only a foot off the ground. No such luck with average human height, unless shrinking spells were a thing. Her mind toyed with the idea of such magic, grinning at the possibilities of shape changing.

"Imoen."

She could shrink herself down, small enough to ride Peri. Fly through the air on her scaly steed. That'd be a wonder!

"Imoen!"

Though why stop at using it on just herself? She could bring Zanven down to size, maybe trap him in a bottle or surround him with kittens. Forcibly get him over his feline aversion. She laughed out loud at the thought.

"You daft girl, look out!" Jaheira's words again failed to catch Imoen's attention as she collided with a mine cart.

Imoen went down with the cart, crying as ore tumbled around her. It created a ruckus, the clattering of the rocks bouncing off the tunnel walls. She rose to her feet with shaking knees, embarrassed as everybody focused on her. "Fine, I'm perfectly fine." She waved off the attention, making it a point to avoid her elder companions' gazes; already they looked around in a tense standstill, an alertness summoned up by the commotion.

"You sure you aren't the blind one and not me?" Zanven asked.

Ha ha. Very funny. So her mind wandered for a moment and she accidentally… could have brought on another ambush. Thankfully nothing had stirred. No new horde of lizards crawled out from their hidey holes to pounce on them. She had made enough noise to wake up the dead, so she counted her blessings that nothing decided to come after them.

Imoen threw an arm around his shoulder, ignoring his discomfort, and pinched his cheek. She delighted in his yelp and attempt to get away from her. "You know as well as I do that my senses are legendary. Catlike reflexes and eagle eyes, all that good stuff." In spite of his complaints, she smiled and continued to bug him. Her grin widened as thoughts of shrinking magic returned. If she didn't know any better, it was almost as if they weren't slogging through underground caves.

Almost. The tunnels wound deeper, and Imoen was sure she had sweated buckets by now in the intensified heat. The rails that bade them forward, ones that jumped at every chance to harry her ankles, came to an end, and signs of mining dwindled. Rough walls looked untouched, as if the iron hidden within was little more than an afterthought; instead, paths were carved out, providing cramped corridors instead of open spaces for mining. Natural caves beckoned for them.

"At last, the door to this nest of mongrels," Tiax said. "Dug right under Nashkel's nose. Fools to have allowed such an ambush."

That was hardly fair. It wasn't like anybody asked for the monsters to set up shop and mess with their livelihoods. "You make it sound like they had a choice. As if it's as simple as just saying, 'Look here, kobolds! No means no!'" Imoen said. "That's what we're here for though. We're the 'no.' Heroing and adventuring, yeah?" She elbowed Zanven to emphasize her point, but he mumbled and waved her off. Looking to the rest of the group offered much the same. Tiax rolled his eyes and Jaheira shook her head. Khalid gave a polite smile laden with patience. Only Minsc gave her a proper response.

"We are the heroes indeed! Goodness follows us with every step. Already Boo trembles with excitement at the glory we shall find. First Nashkel, then Dynaheir, and then… and then..." Minsc stalled for a moment, his enthusiasm wavering. "Well, whatever we can find. Good deeds abound!"

Tiax muttered about the only good being anything done in his name, but Imoen tuned him out. "Right you are, big guy. First Nashkel and then the world!"

* * *

"We… we have gone down that deep?" Zanven asked.

"We have," Jaheira answered.

"Lava. Real lava!" Imoen laughed. "No wonder we've been drowning in sweat. This is way worse than sitting in the library during the middle of summer!"

Such things belonged in tales of Kossuth and his burning homeland, not beneath the little town of Nashkel. He clung to the rope and his pace fell to a determined crawl, staff slow to tap against the ground. The only lava he had dealt with was in Imoen's games when they were children.

"Quit being so stiff," Imoen chided, patting Zanven on the back. "It's just like 'the floor's lava,' except… it's the actual burn-y kind. We got no tables or desks to crawl onto, but we'll be fine just staying here on nice solid ground." She stamped her feet to emphasize her point.

"You needn't worry too much," Jaheira said. "It's only a passing river of magma. Already we've made our way passed most of it."

Good. The less he had to worry about toppling into a lava flow, the better. Blindness and lava was a combination he wanted nothing to do with. Being engulfed by magma was a little worse than the usual obstacles of stubbed toes and aching shins.

Khalid and Minsc's voices echoed from up ahead, mixing with kobold cries. The pounding of footsteps signaled the two's retreat, followed by the scratching of claws. There was a new noise though, screeching of some kind, and it sounded angry.

"Ready yourselves," Khalid said, breathing hard. "They've f-found us again!"

"And like Minsc, they have animal companions of their own!"

The noise grew louder until meeting them head on, and then weapons clashed. Minsc and Khalid worked to keep the ambushers at bay, a vanguard of two. Jaheira squeezed Zanven's shoulder, a silent implication. She shifted into a chant, and there was the cracking sound of something whipping through the air.

"Weasels," Imoen said, voice thick with disbelief. "They're… riding weasels?"

"Noble kobold steeds," Tiax said with a derisive edge. "Stop gawking and arm yourself, unless your spine has left you again! And you, make with the magic!"

Make with the magic? As if it was that easy! An argument teetered on Zanven's lips, but he wasn't afforded the time. There was a hiss and Khalid let out a pained gasp. Feet scrambled against the stone and something drew near, landing with a rush of air. Both kobold and weasel yowled, twin war cries none too subtle in their intentions.

Peri drew the rope taut, but Zanven didn't follow. He lashed out, knocking the kobold rider onto the ground. Before he could bring his staff back for a swing at the weasel, it bit into his arm and shook. The creature's ferocity disappeared when a force jarred its grip away, smashing into it repeatedly. It was quicker than Zanven, but not Jaheira. Her strikes did not let up until the beast went quiet.

"Minsc! Keep them off of Khalid and into the vines! Hold them back!" Jaheira yelled. Minsc roared in response, a terrifying bellow that had Zanven counting his blessings that the man fought with them.

There was a sickening crunch and Tiax laughed. "The pest is nothing without its beast. Here, it writhes still." Tiax took dragged Imoen and Zanven over. "Ripe for the picking for Tiax's minions."

"I, um, don't think…" Imoen said, fumbling over her words.

"Tiax commands you to end it!"

Zanven hands trembled as he raised his staff, intending to slam it down on the prone creature. Something within urged him on alongside Tiax's giggling. Time stood still. He meant to bring his staff crashing down, but a foreign rasping caused him to hesitate. Peri spoke back in a similar language, all hisses and clicks, before addressing his master.

"It's begging for mercy!" Peri said. "It'll tell us about the other kobolds if we spare it."

"Tiax does not do mercy!"

"Fortunately, we are not you," Jaheira interjected. "Tie it up, and be quick about it! We are lucky they've been held at bay for this long. Tiax, stay with Imoen and Zanven and watch over them." Her order brooked no dispute. She rushed away, a savage war cry to Silvanus on her lips.

"Bah, here! Wrap the mongrel up," Tiax said, digging through his pack and shoving rope into Zanven's arms. "Fools a plenty, thinking they can give orders to Tiax! He is the authority figure, not her!"

Clumsy hands knotted the binding in place. It wheezed in protest, but had little energy to resist. Zanven pulled at the rope until he was satisfied it couldn't be undone. The struggle up ahead was audible, much fiercer than before.

"Tiax knows you're not a coward with your bow, so use it! Make yourself useful!"

"I can't," Imoen whined, contrasting the manic gnome's voice. "Everybody's all bunched up. I'll hit one of us! You're not helping either, y'know!"

"Tiax tires of this! Nothing is more useful than his very presence, for he shall eclipse the world in his shadow! He tires of these mongrels harrying his path through the dank holes they call home!" Tiax's tone rose to a maddened pitch, drowning out the battle. "Listen, beasts, and know that your doom awaits. With every step your bane hunts for you. Know that there is no pit deep enough that Tiax cannot find you and tear you asunder! He shall move the very earth to crush you!"

There was strength behind Tiax's words, an invisible force that demanded attention. Zanven huddled away, the tirade tapping into a hidden pool of fear. In that moment, Tiax was terrifying and he wanted nothing to do with the gnome, and from the sounds of it neither did anybody else. The furious shouts and shrieks of combat dissipated and the sound of a hasty retreat followed suit.

"Rrraaaagh! Minsc cannot slay these tiny evils if they scurry away! Stand and meet justice!"

"That is enough," Jaheira said. "Enough I said! Calm yourself, Minsc!"

"Look at them flee! They finally know their place," Tiax said. "Truly inferior creatures."

"And you!" Jaheira registered Tiax with a fiercer tone than Minsc. "I do not know what spell you wove, but it worked, so cut your gloating and get over here. There are wounds to heal while you waste time wagging your tongue."

"I am alright," Khalid said, although his labored breaths betrayed him. "Really, d-dear, think n-nothing of it." Jaheira shushed him as Tiax made his way over, grumbling all the way.

Zanven remained near their captive, casting aside the final throes of fear. Everything was over for now. The kobold at his feet wheezed, reminding him of what he had almost done and what Imoen couldn't do. It would have been easy, still could be easy. His fingers tightened around his staff. His grip relaxed when Imoen spoke up, her usual cheer shaken up.

"That was worse than the last time. All they do is swarm us down here. One moment Tiax's blathering on and the next he's all different. Scary for once, and judging by how all them kobold's up and took off with their tails in between their legs, they thought so too. That one there about thrashed himself into a coma when Tiax started yelling."

"It's still alive, right?" A strange question considering he had almost followed Tiax's urgings to end its life. Why had he asked that?

"I mean, yeah, seems to be. About as alive as it can be, all things considered…" Imoen paused and Zanven was sure she was going to ask him why he wondered; instead, she let out a sigh. "I don't like any of it, not Tiax or this thing or its buddies attacking us. You think it'll really blab on what all the kobolds are down here for?"

Zanven shrugged. Until Peri spoke with it, he had no idea kobolds had any concept of mercy. "We can only hope so."

"What if it just leads us into another ambush? Or a whole bunch of traps? I'm pretty sure it'd be both after seeing how these monsters are."

"Then I guess we'd"—_dispose of it_—"make sure, it, uh… doesn't do… that." Zanven shook his head as if to banish the thought. It would do wonders to get back aboveground and away from these monsters. Away from Tiax, too.

* * *

Everybody circled around the captive. Jaheira and Khalid took turns asking Peri questions for him to relay to the kobold, wasting no time in figuring out why the kobolds were beneath Nashkel. It whined pitifully, giving only half answers and perhaps-truths; the kobolds had moved on from a previous cavernous home in the Cloud Peaks in search of new mines, where they were found and made to make 'bad metal' by someone or something. They were at someone's beck and call.

"We've given enough mercy. The runts are behind it all. Let us bash its skull and be on," Tiax said. He slapped his club against his hand, prepared to strike the blow himself.

"The cranky gnome is right," Minsc added, slow to speak as if agreeing with Tiax pained him. "How are we to trust a monster? Kobolds are tricky and tiny and, most important, evil!"

"Evil? There is more evil in Tiax's little toe than anything a kobold could muster!"

"Then Minsc must chop your toe off, lest it fester and fill you up with foul villainy. It is for the best, so that the seed does not grow."

"Don't think it works that way, big guy," Imoen said, sniggering. "If it did, the world'd be a nicer, toeless place. Hey now, seriously Minsc, put away your sword!"

Zanven laughed. The two clearly represented intellects not quite there, each with their own quirks, and witnessing them clash brought out a small measure of humor in their current predicament. Hearing Tiax wail as the warrior tried to make good on the surgical procedure for goodness had Zanven clutching his stomach.

Jaheira was ready to reprimand them, annoyance bubbling in her tone, before Khalid stepped in. "Nobody's losing any t-toes. Kobolds are just that, Minsc, b-but we have only its word to go off of at the moment. We do not know where we are going or what exactly is going on d-down here. Such knowledge, no matter how suspect, can help significantly, but only if we keep it alive." Khalid sounded like a parent, patient in explaining the merits of eschewing bloodthirst to the two men calling for the kobold's head.

The commotion came to an end as Minsc was convinced amputation was not necessary. They procured very little else from the kobold, who answered the questions with more desperation. It did not know much about who gave its clan orders, but it spoke of its ugliness and devotion to a god of some kind. Judging by the vitriol it spewed, the faith of its master was not accepted mutually.

Jaheira brought the interrogation to a close and had the kobold lead them on through the caves. She kept up a steady stream of questions for Peri to relay to the kobold, and it provided them with directions; presumably, it was to where the kobold's master resided. Minsc's worry started to make sense as they continued. Putting trust into the kobold seemed questionable the longer they followed its directions, even in spite of their caution. Unfortunately, the alternative was trekking along without a clue of what to find.

The heat continued to harass them until it no longer felt like they were heading further under the earth. It gradually gave way to damp, cool air. It had a fresh taste to it; Zanven praised Oghma and every other god he could think of that it no longer felt like he breathed in dirt. Splashes of water echoed through the cavern, evidence of a thrumming river flowing.

"This is where it will hold its last stand," Tiax said. "If we set foot over that bridge and into that cavern, this kobold will laugh at us while our bodies rot! It is a trap to have us ambushed. Let Tiax kill it now!" Tiax's voice turned into a whine. The kobold hissed suddenly, panicked.

"Get away from it," Jaheira said. "It has not led us astray just yet so I shall not have it left to your vile devices."

"We shall c-continue on," Khalid affirmed. "However, keep your wits about you, everyone. If T-tiax is right…"

"Then we shall slaughter them all," Tiax finished, a peculiar glee in his words.

* * *

What a place to make one's lair. Another cave tucked away beneath the earth and surrounded by a moat to boot! No wonder Tiax was so paranoid. They had already been ambushed multiple times before, and this was about as perfect a set up for another that Imoen could think of. As the party crept along the narrow pathway across the water, she knew there was no way they would avoid another kobold swarm.

The bridge led them into a spacious area, dim light from torches flickering across the walls. A voice ahead rumbled in a chant, causing their captive alarm. It sang in a grating song, followed up by higher pitched yipping. The kobold hissed and spat like a feral animal, unwilling to go on.

"That must be the boss, huh?" Imoen asked. The question was relayed and the kobold affirmed it.

"How many of you are there?" Jaheira asked. The kobold said nothing at first, but a good shake elicited a response.

"Over two dozen," Peri said. "Not counting what we've come across already."

Jaheira nodded, satisfied with the answer. In one quick motion, she jerked the kobold's head to the side with an audible snap. Imoen gasped, unprepared for the brutality.

"Was… was that necessary?" Imoen said. Kobold or not, it seemed wrong to lead the creature around and then do away with it once it was no longer needed. Sure, it didn't hesitate to try and kill them earlier, but still…

"Why did you do that?" Zanven asked. He sounded as surprised as Imoen, although something differed. Was that anger in his tone? Why was he mad over the killing?

"It is for the b-best," Khalid said. "We could not let the creature free, not after what we've discovered."

"She merely wanted to steal Tiax's glory!" Tiax said, fuming. "Nobody usurps his bloodlust!"

Jaheira laughed, an incredulous chuckle. "Rest assured, I did not mean to steal whatever murderous intentions you harbored! The kobold led us to what may be the source of Nashkel's troubles, and while it was admirable it did not lead us into any traps, it was still part of it itself. How many people has it killed? How many would it go on to kill? Had it the chance earlier, it would have had no qualms with treating us the same."

"How dare you rob Tiax of his pleasure!"

"Shut up," Jaheira hissed. "We've no time for this!"

"There is always time for Tiax! He will find another victim, one to be slain by his hand and not yours!" He brandished his club in her face before turning forward. The gnome was ready to blunder ahead alone in his frenzy.

Imoen noticed the chanting had stopped. "Uh, guys…" Great, he just had to raise his voice now of all times!

A booming voice rang through the cave. "If that's more of you skipping my sermons, I swear on the Black Sun I'll crush…" The speaker strode out to meet them, flanked by his kobold servants. He eyed them, surprised by what he found.

The kobold sure didn't lie. The man, if he could be called that, was hideous. Crooked teeth jutted out from his mouth, belonging to a face that looked like it wasn't a stranger to the business end of a hammer. Blotchy skin denoted blood beyond that of a normal man. He stood taller than any of them except for Minsc, glaring daggers.

"Who are you?" he asked. His glare turned to fear. "Wait, you're all Tazok's dogs aren't you? Come for my head, haven't you? I've done everything I've been asked of, even with these damnable kobolds! I've even spread the true path to these heathens, for all the good it does them!"

"You may yet keep your head, worm," Jaheira said, her tone darkening. "Tell me, in detail, how the operation fares. Leave nothing—"

"Tiax is noone's dog!"

Gods, why couldn't he just _shut up_ for once?

The man's face scrunched up, clarity pooling in his eyes. "Tiax? Tazok sent Tiax?" He burst into laughter, sending kobolds scurrying away from him. "Haha, Tiax? I thought Tranzig had left your corpse on the road for the crows to feast on! You are a joke, not an assassin!"

Oookay… this was odd. Imoen's mouth hung open, as unsure as everybody else what to make of the situation. She was sure Jaheira was trying to strangle Tiax with her eyes. Everything had turned upside down in an instant.

Tiax flushed, anger threatening to blow his head clear from his shoulders. "Tiax is no peasant to be tossed aside by bandits and highwaymen! He deemed your scheme beneath him, unfitting for Cyric's Chosen, so he left you to fail without him!"

"Cyric's Chosen? You?" the man spluttered. "Cyric chose me as his right hand, not some ooze-brained, knee-biting half-man! Even that fool with his dead family had a higher calling then you in Cyric's vision! Enough of this. I'll cleanse the world of you, false prophet! Arise, minions, and bring me their heads!" The man raised a shining symbol, the same skull-emblazoned sun as Tiax's.

Imoen watched Tiax wiggle his fingers at his side and move his mouth in a whisper. The symbol's glow sputtered out and the man shook it, to no effect.

"Why has this gone cold? What have you done, gnome?!

"Tiax has done nothing. Cyric does not favor you, you orcish whoreson! Your goals are petty in comparison to the wonder of Tiax, and his lord knows it!" Tiax raised his own symbol and his ghoul burst out in a cloud of smoke. "Tiax shall squash you like an insolent bug!"

With a snarl, the man tossed his holy symbol aside and hefted his mace. He spared no more words, howling to his god and leading the kobolds around him in a charge. Tiax ran alongside his ghoul to meet him. It did not take long for confusion to wear off before Minsc waded into the fray. Khalid stayed behind, a bulwark awaiting the kobold swarm. Seeing Jaheira's sling whirling, Imoen hastily followed suit with her bow. Next to her Peri shimmered, blurring into multiple copies of himself, all hovering around their master.

The kobolds massed like their previous ambushes, but fought with a different fury; they surged with the orc's voice, yipping a chorus as they attacked. Tiax belted out his own chants and the cave became a cacophony of Cyric devotion. The two cyricists clashed, Tiax's ghoul weaving through kobolds to defend its club-flailing master. Its claws scraped against the orc's armor, never striking more than glancing blows, and then it was sent flying by a massive swing of his mace.

His mace came back, aimed to dash Tiax's brains, but missed as Tiax rolled away and hammered at the orc's knees. "Fall to the ground now and Tiax might spare you a quick death, Mulahey! Mayhaps even grant you the boon of slavery!"

His words received a frustrated growl in response. "I am slave to only Cyric! Stand still so I can paint the floor with your blood!"

Imoen did her best to avoid hitting her comrades; the Rashemi made it difficult with his size while Tiax and his ghoul were locked in a duel with the orc. Kobolds farther behind loosed a volley of arrows, helping the swarm push them back. At this rate, they would be back outside the lair on the bridge. Maneuverability was fast becoming a dying luxury.

The kobolds formed a barrier that surrounded their leader and pushed out from it. They had engulfed and separated Minsc and Tiax while trying to force the others off the bridge. Many of the kobolds remained by their leader's side, even while trying to split the group apart. Strange that they fought with so much loyalty for a man they disliked, judging by their captive's earlier behavior. If he was the boss, how would they fight without him? With the spark of an idea, Imoen took aim. _Please, oh please, let me get him. _

The arrow sailed through the air, catching Mulahey off guard. The orc reeled back from the shot with a roar of pain. Tiax jumped on his weakness. He took the orc's legs out from under him, sending him crashing to his knees. He lunged, bringing his club down with both hands, only to be swatted away.

"I will break you all and appease Cyric with your shattered bodies!" Mulahey growled. He stood up, ignoring the arrow wound, and stomped over to Tiax. "You will be the first." Mace held high, Mulahey let out a gurgle as claws wrapped around his neck.

"Tiax is unbreakable!" Tiax jumped to his feet, evading the kobolds in his way. "Korax, keep him still. You've promised Cyric a gift you cannot give. My lord is not to be trifled with! Watch, mongrels, as Tiax shows you the true power of the faithful!"

Korax lowered the still orc, forcing him back onto his knees. Tiax grinned, grabbing Mulahey's face. Crimson energy crackled around his fingers, violent threads coalescing around Mulahey's head. "Yield to His supremacy, as shall the world, and offer your blood to the Dark Sun! Your weakness is an affront to Cyric and needs culling! Tiax places a mark of shame upon you, so that you may die knowing your paltry existence is but a footnote in Tiax's ascension!"

The energy flared up, casting a red hue over the battlefield. Mulahey shuddered and collapsed to the ground. Everything stopped at the orc's death. Nobody seemed to believe that Tiax had been capable of such a display of savagery. Sensing all eyes on him, he sneered. "Tiax tires of this dank hole."

The kobolds threw down their arms and fled. Whoever Mulahey was, he was the only thing that kept them together, and they routed with him gone, taking off into the tunnels. Imoen gawked in horror. There was fire behind the gnome's madness, burning now brighter than before.

As everyone settled down, preparing for the after-combat lull, Jaheira was the first to speak. "Do not move, Tiax." Her tone was icy. "I have endured your gibbering and tolerated your misguided faith only to find out you knew the ringleader of Nashkel's ills. Not once did you mention this. Now he is dead by your hand with naught a single question answered. Cyricist, you've much to explain."

Khalid stood next to his wife, muscles tense and ready to spring into action. Minsc joined them. Tiax glared at them, a hand beckoning his ghoul closer. Imoen was sure there would be more fighting until Tiax broke the tension in the air by whining.

"Listen up then. Tiax does not repeat himself!"

* * *

Author's Note: Had a bit of a struggle with this chapter, which accounted for the unusual delay in getting it out. It took me a bit to hit a stride where I started gelling with it, and I hope it shows (and by all means, if it doesn't let me know!) Ended up having more fun with it than I thought I would. I really appreciate everybody's kind words so far and I hope I can continue to give y'all reasons to review.


	7. Chapter 7

It had not been Zanven's plan to harbor a piece of the tainted iron puzzle in the group, much less one capable of what Tiax had shown. It was certainly humorous to travel alongside the gnome for the effect he had on Jaheira, but this went beyond childish spite. His fingers drummed against his staff, antsy for Tiax's explanation.

"Out with it," Jaheira demanded. "What little patience I had has dried up."

"Rush Tiax again and there will be repercussions!" His ghoul let out a moan, emulating its master's frustration. "He requires time to put his thoughts together. Tiax's mind is an enigma that must be broken down for you peasants!"

"You know," Imoen started, "we are a little smarter than you give us credit for. I'd even say we're way smarter than—"

Zanven shushed her, sensing the gnome's anger boiling. "Just explain it for us, Tiax. From the sounds of it, whatever Mulahey was a part of has slighted you in the past. Tell us and your, um, servants can help administer revenge." It pained him to fluff up Tiax's ego, but a little honey went a long way—without it he would never have made it this far with him.

"Tiax once travelled with two others of the faith. One was this pathetic creature here and the other… a crackpot of a priest unworthy of a name. We were once brothers, but they betrayed Tiax."

"Betrayed?" Jaheira asked, suspicion dripping from the word.

"Yes, that is what Tiax said!" He sighed after the outburst. "Mulahey was an idiot. Smart for an orc, but still an orc. The other was young, an impressionable mind Tiax could mold. Tiax pried apart the Black Hand's grip with his counseling. A fitting son for Cyric, a fitting son for…" Tiax hesitated and coughed, an angry sound rumbling out.

Zanven wondered about sudden hitch in Tiax's voice. Emotion had broken free before being snuffed out by his usual attitude. "A fitting son for whom?"

"Cyric! Mishear Tiax's words again and he shall tear off your ears! We shared each other's company for a time, lights of the Dark Sun, until meeting Tranzig, curse that snake-tongued, twice-bedamned deceiver!"

"T-Tranzig?" Khalid asked. "Mulahey mentioned that name. Another as well. Tazok?"

"Tiax knows no Tazok. He does know that Mulahey pledged himself to Tranzig's schemes. Tiax's other comrade, too." There it was again, the faint trace of pain in his voice. "That fool promised them the world if they joined the banditry along the coast and they did. Tiax's world was not his to give away! They would not listen to Tiax so they left him to be ambushed in the night and dumped on the road. Woe to them, for Tiax has arisen, and his vengeance has not been sated with Mulahey."

Jaheira clicked her tongue. "So then the bandits are related to Nashkel's ills. Your companion must not be the mastermind as I had thought. Merely a lackey of some greater scum, sent here to turn the region's iron to dust. What more do you know?"

"Nothing. Tiax knows that he himself is above petty banditry, but Mulahey's actions within this cesspool are unknown to Tiax. Mulahey had not the brains for such things, however. A pawn following orders like a good little piggy."

"You're no less despicable, Tiax, but you've made this mystery clearer, if only a little. You are a part of this somehow, if not by choice, and you will aid us in getting to the bottom of it," Jaheira said, her demand met with dismissal. "Let us rest and scour the orc's lair for more clues. I've no doubt we will find more pieces to the puzzle lying about. And by the Oak Father, do away with that abomination of yours, Tiax. It has served its purpose."

"Tiax do this, Tiax do that. He will do as he wills and no less!"

* * *

The room did not match up with everything else they had found. Tucked away in a side passage from the larger cave, it was a posh little dwelling unsuited for the brute that called it home. Carpeting covered the floor and a throne of sorts dominated the center, covered in pillows. Next to it was a makeshift altar and a chest. A jawless skull's gaze bored into her from the altar.

Spooky little thing. Couldn't an evil god have something else as its symbol, perhaps something a tad less grim? Sure, rainbows and puppies didn't exactly scream evil, but wasn't Tiax's god all about incognito chaos? Draw them in with a visage of happiness, and then boom—evil. Imoen snorted, imagining Tiax striking someone down by waving a puppy at them rather than his holy symbol. That'd be the day!

"Over here, everybody!" Imoen called out over her shoulder. Without waiting for them, she took to rooting around Mulahey's personal space. The chest was locked and she waggled a finger at it. "Tsk, tsk, you. That just won't do, now will it?" She pulled a pillow over to kneel on and went to work undoing the lock. Sure, everybody frowned upon thievery (and none more than those darn fun-smiting monks), but the skillset sure had its uses. It's not like she was ever a malicious sort, and besides, stealing from the bad guys was fair game. The mechanism clicked and she smiled, satisfied with her craft.

Her eyes lit up when she lifted open the chest. Imoen gently lifted out a pair of swords, first checking the shorter blade. Now that was good steel, nothing at all like Winthrop's crummy thing. She held up the longer one, intrigued by the gems ingrained in the hilt. It gave off an eerie sheen in the dim light. It had to be some sort of magic; totally hers, saw it first! She gave it a tentative swing before a burning sensation flared in her hand. She let go with a cry, sending the blade clattering to the ground.

"What are you doing?" Jaheira asked. Imoen turned to see her at the head of the group, arms crossed and grimace locked in place.

"N-nothing. Nothing at all," Imoen said, rubbing her hand. "Just looking for clues like you wanted. I mean, treasure too, but definitely clues. Clues for sure."

"Knowing her, she's ransacked the entire place already," Zanven said from behind Jaheira. Imoen made a face at him. She wouldn't pick it clean, not when they were a group. That would just be poor manners to loot all of it without sharing. Just most of it.

Jaheira strode in, grabbing Imoen's hand. "Why are you holding your hand so? Your palm is red."

"I'm fine. Nothing happened. I just squeezed that sword too hard is all." Her hand itched, but it wasn't anything to get so worked up over. She wasn't going to be touching that sword again though. Lesson learned the first time.

Jaheira raised an eyebrow, still looking at Imoen's hand. She then scrutinized the weapon before turning to the open chest. "Let us leave it be for now. While I would normally advise against your curiosity, it is tolerable at the moment. Have you found anything?"

"Not really." Imoen eyed the blades on the ground. "There wasn't much in there 'cept for these swords and all those bottles of… something." Giving a more thorough look, vials were carefully stacked within the container on top of one another. It was quite a lot of whatever it was.

Jaheira took one and held it up, swishing the vial around. Khalid reached for it, inspecting it when his wife handed it over to him. "The kobold had said something about making b-bad metal. This must be related. I wonder… Imoen, hand me your sword p-please."

"Huh? What for?" Even as she questioned his plan, she unsheathed the blade at her hip and held it out for him. Khalid uncorked the vial and poured the nasty, green liquid over her sword, and instantly there was a reaction. The liquid bubbled and hissed as it dripped over the blade, further dulling the weapon. Khalid swung it against the chest and the brittle metal shattered.

"Mayor G-Ghastkill will want to know of this," Khalid said. He held the hilt out for Imoen before smiling sheepishly and tossing it aside. He reached for the shorter blade on the ground and handed that to her instead.

"Dump all of it out," Jaheira said. "They will be empty before we leave."

"Dump it?" Imoen asked. Even Khalid gave his wife a questioning look. "It's all proof, isn't it? Evidence for all the rotten iron?"

"Dump it. It's a taint none deserve to have in their hands. Letting it exist will do more harm than good. I will see to it this thread is tied." Jaheira's steely eyes rested upon everybody, as if waiting for the chance to pounce on any resistance.

Tiax scoffed when she stared him down longer than the others. "Don't give Tiax that look. This plan was doomed to failure and Tiax will not tie himself to such a plot. He needs only his own schemes to spread his influence."

Hands grabbed for every vial, upending them and dumping the contents all over the floor. Tiax took to making a sport of it, tossing them into the air and smashing them with his club. Imoen rolled her eyes, but soon found even his dumb glee contagious. He looked stupid… but it sure did look fun. "Hey, Minsc? Humor me. Stand over there and away from everybody." She grinned, idly tossing a bottle up and down. "Leave enough room to swing that big sword of yours."

"Um, Imoen, what do you mean?" Minsc asked, drawling out her name with his accent. "Minsc sees no evil left. As much as I love to fight, now is not fight time."

"It's a game, if you will. I toss these atcha and ya hit 'em. Careful, everybody!" With little warning, she yanked bottles out and threw them at Minsc. The large warrior wasn't prepared for the first salvo as the vials bounced off of him, but his reflexes soon sprang into action.

"Imoen, Boo says this isn't safe!" Listening to the frantic cries of her companions, it was probably the first time they would agree with the hamster.

"But it's fun, right? Tell Boo to live a little!" She laughed, weaving out of the way to avoid Jaheira and grab more bottles. "Imagine they're kobolds! Big, bad, evil ones!" Oh, this was a delightful idea! Breaking things was so much fun! She laughed harder when Tiax joined in, vials now coming at Minsc from two directions. To the Rashemi's credit, he was quick in spite of his size and his sword danced around to deflect the projectiles.

"End this foolishness!" Jaheira shouted, all but hugging Imoen to stop her antics.

"Aw, I have to. We ran out of bottles. Well, it's all dumped now for ya."

"Look at this mess you've made! It is a wonder that Minsc's sword has not broken!" Seeing Jaheira flustered widened Imoen's grin. She was wound up way too tight. They beat the bad guy, looted his lair, and only had to return to Nashkel to break the news. It wasn't uncalled for to try and enjoy things for a quick moment.

A moan interrupted Jaheira's chastisement, echoing from the nearby passageway. "I can only pray that you are dead, Mulahey, and that my time of rescue is nigh… though it would be my luck to remain here, alone and forgotten."

Jaheira let go of Imoen, sharing a look with her husband. The pair left the room, rushing to seek out the voice. Everybody followed behind. Imoen cringed upon seeing the source of the noise. Lying on the ground was a man struggling to sit up with the chains that hobbled him. He was wrapped in filthy rags that did little to cover his emaciated frame.

"Minsc," Jaheira said, waving him over, "you've enough strength to break these chains?" He only smiled, taking the chains in his hands and ripping them apart as if they were string.

The prisoner struggled to stand, flexing his limbs as if he was a stranger to his own body. He wiped strands of grimy hair out of face to look at his rescuers. "Truly you have my thanks. Seeing you before me granting me my freedom makes this question almost useless, but it would do me well to hear it said aloud. The bastard is dead?"

"If you mean the orc, then yes. He is slain," Jaheira answered. Relief flickered across his face and he collapsed into Minsc's arms. He laughed at first, an unhinged bark, and then slowly started to cry. It built up into a sob that caused his body to shudder.

"Good man, you are free now," Minsc said, his usual jovialness now solemn. The man was engulfed in Minsc's embrace, appearing no more a child in the giant's arms. "The stink of evil has been washed from you. We will bring you out of this hole so that, the Three willing, you can erase the memories of this place from your mind. Minsc and Boo swear on it."

So this is what heroing was really about. The big lug was right: good deeds abound.

* * *

Jaheira and Khalid had dealt with spilling the news of their discovery in the mines to Mayor Ghastkill, as well as seeing to it that the freed prisoner—Xan he had called himself—was properly treated. After the ordeal they all went through, everybody needed to stock up and rest. The moment Minsc set foot outside of the mines he had wanted to charge off in search of his missing companion, but even his zeal could not hide his weariness. Time was not their ally, but an ill-prepared venture would not find success.

"I still can't believe it," Imoen said, walking alongside Zanven. "The moment he touched that sword it lit up with fire. How it didn't burn him, I don't know. My hand's still a little numb from when I found it."

"You should probably let Jaheira take a look at it," Zanven said. "Don't you think it was a little unsafe to dig around before anybody else got a good look at things?" Prudence wasn't Imoen's strong suit.

"Oh, there's nothing to worry about. I, uh, made sure to ask Xan about it and he said I'm fine. Wouldn't have been if I held onto it longer. Some kinda elven magic he said, makes it bonded to him and nobody else. It was a good thing we found him, the poor guy."

To have spent months underground, defenseless to the whims of another's malice… it was beyond anything anybody deserved, especially for someone of his stock. As he explained, it had been his duty as a Greycloak of Evereska to investigate the iron shortage and such danger was a potential price to pay; in spite of his grim endurance, one that had been stretched to the brink, he could now begin fixing the damage.

"He'll be fine, Imoen. Nalin's tending to him. He patched me up pretty well. He'll be in good hands."

"Yeah, but you had your… ah, well, I suppose you're right."

Zanven scratched the back of his neck, unsure of what to say. Even with Nalin's help, he should not have been as healthy as he was. Xan didn't have the luxury of whatever strange fluke he experienced. It had not crossed his mind until she hinted at it.

"Look at me moping," Imoen continued. "I'm turning into you, trying to ruin the mood! No use spending our bit of free time as worry warts. Not when there's a carnival calling for us."

"I didn't know we were ten still." Of course there was a carnival, and of course she would drag him off to it.

She always did enjoy the silly things. He remembered the Wandering Folk that camped outside of Candlekeep years back. Karan had taken him and Imoen out for a field trip of sorts, taking the chance to let them experience in person what the tomes' words could not share. The Gur, Karan had explained, were a strange people, but Imoen fit right in with them, with their outlandish stories and cluttered tent-city. She enjoyed it so much she tried to run away with them. It took all day for Karan to hunt her down and Winthrop didn't let her out of the inn for a month.

"Yeah, I really don't need to turn into you. Pleasant moods would never stand a chance against two Zanvens. Peri's excited, I bet. Ain'tcha?"

"Yup," Peri cooed. "Look at all the people. That man is juggling swords, and oh, over there that woman is selling sweets! I can smell them!"

"I'll get you a few, but only that. A _few_! I won't have you getting fat on me," Zanven said. A tail whapped him in the face in response. "A few can turn into a couple, or perhaps just one, before we get there."

"Aw, splurge a little! They do smell rather good and—uh, actually, you guys go on. I'll catch up with you in a bit." Imoen left them in a hurry.

Zanven shook his head, working his way toward the stall. She was up to something, and thankfully for the moment he was not a part of it. Not that it mattered; if it was some joke she was cooking up, he'd get pulled into it. He paid for the tarts and followed Peri's lead away from the crowd, sitting down to enjoy the brief respite. Best make the most of it for now. There was no telling when Imoen would pop back up.

He shared the sweets with Peri, content with idling the day away. No kobolds, no nagging or mad rambling, and no assassins. He sat straighter at the last thought and cringed when he heard footsteps nearing him.

"Excuse me," a feminine voice said. "Is it quite alright for me to sit here?" She had a youthful lilt to her words, causing Zanven's cheek to glow; there was no way she missed him jumping out of skin. He shook his head, feeling the fool as she took a seat. "Splendid. It is a welcome surprise to find someone who has distanced themselves from the prudish rabble here."

"I… um, well, yes," Zanven said, struggling to find his voice, "I'm not quite fond of crowds." The woman responded with an occupied 'hmm.' He set aside the sweets and had his hands in his lap, fingers twisting together. Silence stretched on between them except for the occasional rustling of paper.

"I recognize that book," Peri whispered. "It was the one with dragon lady! She was my favorite. You think she likes it?"

Zanven gulped. He was reminded just how limited his social skills were. The library hardly taught one the best way to socialize (and neither did Imoen.) "Forgive me, but you're not by chance reading… ah, the name eludes me. I remember the characters. They all have a knack for dying. It makes it hard to get attached to any of them, not when you dread that they'll disappear with each page."

"You read?" Irritation raced across his face at the woman's question. "Oh, I must apologize. That came out wrong, although surely you must understand my initial confusion. Unfortunately, yes, this is the very same novel."

"You don't sound like a fan of it."

"And why would I be? It is rubbish, to be frank. Nowhere near deserving of the fame it has garnered. To think, even the plays of it are so popular. It's best left in words, though even that's a crime."

"It is not," Peri whined softly.

Zanven hadn't thought it was so bad. It had its flaws, sure, but not enough in his mind to earn such scorn. "It is a tad long-winded at parts, but I thought it a fun read."

"I disagree. It is violent and vulgar and unnecessarily so. That isn't even to mention the agonizingly slow pace it crawls at. It is clear the author loves to indulge in his absurd ideas of fantasy."

"Fair points." He had not been prepared for such a scathing review. "I never finished the series, to tell the truth."

"Thank goodness. Hopefully I've dispelled the notion of furthering such nonsense. I wish I could say the same for others... that northern dullard, passing off for academia."

"Heya—oh! Zanven, you dog!" Imoen was back. Great, now he had to wonder what trick she plotted up. "Hello to you, too, stranger. Mind if I whisk away my friend here?" She didn't wait for an answer, tugging at his arm and dragging him away. She giggled like child as they walked away.

"Was it necessary to interrupt our conversation?" It was a lie to say he liked chatting with the woman, but he found something oddly fascinating about how riled up she got over a book.

"You were talking about books weren'tcha? You're kidding me." Imoen snorted. "First of all, color me surprised _you_ were chatting with a pretty face, but whoa! To think you could woo a girl and go that far by talking about books?"

"I'm perfectly fine talking to anyone!" His voice went up a pitch, a sudden vehement edge to it. Annoyance tugged him in all sorts of directions. "Why are you laughing? Stop that!"

"You've no idea do ya? No, of course not." Another round of laughter had him balling his hands up. What was so funny? "Zanven, she had no clothes on. None. Naked as a woodland nymph. Certainly looked like one with those flowers in her hair."

His mouth went dry. A powerful fire burned at his cheeks. "Y-you… you-you're lying!"

"Aw, look at you! So bashful," she teased. "I leave you alone and all of a sudden you're a literary heart throb."

Embarrassed wasn't strong enough a word. The god of mortification himself had come down from the heavens to personally anoint him as the avatar of humiliation.

* * *

She had never seen Zanven turn that shade before. No amount of badgering stopped her from giggling. That was a memory she'd take with her to the grave. She'd save it for later, an ace for when she wanted to further embarrass him. It would need embellishment though. Lots and lots of embellishment, just like all good stories.

"So where are we going now?" Zanven asked. His flush still haunted him.

"There are some performers here I thought would be fun to watch." Imoen looked over her shoulder as they moved. She wanted to see them earlier, but she had spotted the boy from the Belching Dragon and panicked. She was sure he had even made eye contact with her so she had to run. Bless the kid and his infatuation, but it wasn't a reunion she wanted to be a part of.

"Yes, I'm sure watching them will be all sorts of fun."

"Quit being a grouch." Honestly, you catch a guy with a naked woman and all of a sudden he hates you. "There's all sorts of things. People are playing music and singing and some are telling stories. I'm pretty sure there's a magician around, too."

That seemed to thwart his temper. They pushed through the crowd and found seats within the stands. Dancers, clad in a variety of costumes, hustled around the makeshift stage. The crowd ate it up watching the performers whirl around in a splash of colors, all long, loose clothing billowing around them, and Imoen found herself joining in, clapping and cheering like everybody else.

Even Zanven lightened up when a tune was struck. He and his familiar bobbed together, swaying with the music. The musicians danced as they played, weaving in and out with their instruments. The plucked strings and whistling made for a cheery tune, inspiring the onlookers to dance themselves. It was sad to hear it come to a close as the whirling bodies slowed and the music halted. The performers parted to allow a man to move forward.

Imoen gasped. She tugged at Zanven's sleeve, bursting with excitement. "He's floating on a carpet! Sitting cross-legged like it's nothing!"

The man was garbed in fancy robes of silk with a conical wrap adorning his head. His eyes twinkled with an entertainer's flair and a smile hid behind a groomed beard. He dismounted the carpet, his arms held aloft.

"Ladies and gentlemen, fine citizens of Amn, there is one final act left," he said in a heavy accent. "Gazib would be a shameless pig to not show his face at his own troupe's performance! The Sultan of Splendor shall not have his reputation tarnished by forgoing his skills of entertainment. I hope we have not disappointed thus far in bringing a taste of Calimshan to your humble abode."

Gazib grabbed a pouch from his waist and tossed it into the air, sand spraying from the bag. With a twist of his hands, the sand shifted and flew through the air as a single mass. It mimicked Gazib's hand motions, swirling in a tornado before settling on the ground. When he brought his arms up, it raised into a miniature palace before crumbling away. Imoen clapped her hands together so hard she thought they'd fall right off.

"What is happening?" Zanven asked. "Everyone is losing it. Tell me what is happening!"

"Magic, that's what," Imoen said. "He made shapes from sand! Oh, now there're monsters!" A giant beast shimmered into view, swinging a club at the crowd.

"People everywhere speak of Amn's safety and how it has rid itself of monsters. I shall not see your country's good name slandered," Gazib said, busy orchestrating his magical display. Knights winked into existence like ghosts, lunging with their spears. They leapt around the monster, synchronized in their attack as they skipped away from every swing of the ogre's club, until the beast fell with a roar. They stood triumphant over the monster, saluting their audience, and then disappeared along with the corpse of their prey.

"This is amazing!" Imoen gushed.

"Yes, from the sounds of it, everybody loves it." Zanven's grumpiness returned and Imoen couldn't help but feel guilty. The entire display was lost on him.

"What is this?" Gazib asked, pointing into the crowd. Imoen looked around her at first, not realizing he was pointing at her and Zanven. "This will not do! Accept my most sincere apologies, friends, for I had not meant to exclude you from the wonders of the South!" He walked toward them, hands outstretched to pull the two of them out from the crowd. Imoen was all too eager to join the performer, but Zanven resisted.

"Aw, come on," Imoen whispered, squeezing his hand. "It'll be fun! He has something in store for you!" Her friend relented with a muffled groan, letting Gazib pull him along.

"If you will allow it, friend, I can let you see what you have missed and more! There are no tricks here, I promise." Gazib flashed a smile, his grin widening further when Zanven slowly nodded. A glow emanated from Gazib and connected with Zanven, trailing from one arm to another until it swirled around Zanven's head. Zanven smiled, looking positively giddy.

A scene played in the air above them: a man with a flaming head sparred with another whose body trailed into a wisp of smoke where his legs ought to be. They dueled with their curved swords, clashing against one another again and again. The man of fire finally seemed to gain an edge, pushing his blade dangerously close to his opponent.

"Ah, the efreet is a horrendous creature! It would be terrible to see such a monster triumph over the noble djinni. Let us cheer for the righteous one to aid him in battle!" Gazib shouted, enticing the crowd into a fervor. Imoen watched in awe, unable to contain her excitement. Never had she seen anything so spectacular!

The djinni responded to the cheers. He deflected the efreet's sword away and surged into his attacker, ending the fight with a swift slash to the efreet's neck. The figures went up in a puff of smoke, leaving to applause. Zanven looked beside himself with excitement, mirroring his familiar flapping about him. It was strange to see him so happy.

"Alas, everything must eventually come to an end," Gazib said, bringing his performance to a close. "It is with a heavy heart, that I, Gazib the Great, Sultan of Splendor and benefactor of the Traveling Calishites, must bring my show to finality. We are deeply indebted to the graciousness you have shown us here in Nashkel, and for those who wish to see more of our performances, we shall be in Baldur's Gate within the next tenday!" He left the two of them with a clap of their shoulders, returning to his troupe.

Imoen bounced in place, wishing for more. "What'd he do to you? Did you see what we saw?"

"I did," Zanven said. "He helped me see it. The efreet, the djinni, everything! I take it all back, Imoen. The carnival was a great idea!"

With the show's passing, the crowd drifted away and the performers began packing away their things. Gazib flitted amongst his fellow entertainers, giving out orders. When he turned and made eye contact with Imoen, her heart leapt from her chest. He started to walk over to them. Was he going to do something special for them again? Oh please, oh please, oh please!

* * *

"I'm glad to have been of service!" Gazib said, moving aside the tent flap to let them in. "Your adulation is music to my ears and far from what I deserve. I am but a humble entertainer."

Imoen laughed. "Oh, come on now! Did you see what you did? You were awesome!"

"Really!" Zanven said. "I don't know how you did it, or what you did, but I saw it all. Nobody's done that for me. Nobody's ever been able to do that for me!" How the man created such images within his mind bordered on miraculous.

"The most gracious of fans, you two. Please, take a seat," Gazib said. "I am loath to trade away my secrets, but I shall leave you with this. With illusions and enchantments, you can have the world in your palm."

"So you're a wizard then? I mean, you have to be!" Imoen said, provoking a chuckle from the man.

"That is among the many things I am called." He poured them drinks. "Here, I cannot call myself a proper host if I've not offered tea. This is the pride and joy of Calimshan, try it."

Imoen sucked hers down and spluttered in a coughing fit. Zanven laid a cup down for Peri before drinking from his own. He savored the hot, strong flavor. He would need to remember this drink.

"I appreciate that you two have taken time out of your day not only to watch my performance, but also to indulge me in chatting," Gazib said. "Seeing you two, I sensed something special within you. I sensed the hearts of entertainers."

"No way," Imoen said. "You really mean that?"

"Indeed I do. I'm always looking for fresh talent."

Imoen squealed in delight. Gazib chuckled that polite laugh of his.

Zanven shifted on the cushion. He never considered himself an entertainer. That definitely fit Imoen more than him. He yawned, taking another long sip of tea. "I can't dance nor play music. I'm no showman, not at all like you. I have nothing to offer."

"Ah, but is that so?" Gazib leaned forward, taking Zanven's hand in his own. "The best are often modest. You are worth more than you think."

Zanven moved his hand away, a laziness enveloping him. He stifled another yawn. "Really, sir, the arts aren't my field. Not really even Imoen's, either." He laughed, expecting a retort from his friend. None came except for a quiet snore. Peri, too, snoozed in his lap.

"Truth be told, even I am not sure how much you are worth." Zanven raised an eyebrow at that. "I've seen enough genie-kin to realize you've strange blood flowing in you. Although what exactly I'm unsure."

"Genie-kin?" The conversation took a strange turn. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean." Again with another yawn! What came over him?

"No, you wouldn't. They are called genasi, but that matters little. The bounty on you is quite the coin, but I have contacts that'd pay double for an exotic slave such as yourself, even with your blindness. I'd have to ascertain what it is about you that is so odd first, lest they'd think me a liar."

Bounty? Slave? He shook Imoen, but she did not move. Horror creeped up on him. This man was a charade of generosity.

"Don't look so alarmed. I've developed quite a soft spot for you and your friend here. I can arrange for you a rather compassionate master. Perhaps you'd be lucky to be freed by the Janessar, that meddlesome bunch—after your purchase obviously. You wouldn't matter to me after that."

Zanven stumbled to his knees. "I… I am not property to be bought and sold."

An iron grip latched onto his wrist. "That is where I am afraid you are wrong. Everything has a price when there are buyers and sellers. You've a choice here, one in which I feel is rather generous. I can gut you, your pet, and your friend right here and cash in on your bounty. Or, and open your ears now, boy, I can arrange for you a new life of servitude and create business. It seems an easy choice, no?"

Slavery or death, the viper offered.

"No… I-I won't!"

"That golden sheen… Perhaps I won't gut you. No, that'd be a waste. I had hoped for you to make things easy, but alas I am not as persuasive as I once was. There are other ways to make the world dance in one's palm."

A tingling itched in Zanven's head. It was intrusive, smothering his mind. He felt the bite of manacles. Bodies crowded around him, pushing him against bars. Pitiful moans in dozens of languages buzzed in his ears. The wagon creaked across the road, skipping over every rocky bump.

"It only seems terrible at first," whispered a voice, smooth as silk. It spoke from everywhere and nowhere. "It is merely an… initiation of sorts. Things become simpler. Easier."

He padded through a house, cleaning as he went. He pushed open a door and entered a library. A man sat within the study, beckoning him over, and spoke of a multitude of things: books, magic, gods, history. His head bent forward as he listened, weighed down by meekness. Nothing stuck in his mind, the words mixing together into a messy speech.

"Don't you see? Is it not desirable to live a life of no worries, no cares? Let another guide you, care for you, all for the small price of loyalty."

His head pounded, threatening to burst open. What was all of this? That was not how he wanted to live! He wanted none of this!

"You resist. You do not understand. Just give up—"

A roar overwhelmed his ears. A caged beast breaking free, it screamed over the honeyed voice. A familiar light prickled over his skin, the same from his dream. He calmed for a moment, but the roaring persisted and the light disappeared. He snapped out of the man's spell, no longer feeling fatigued. His blindfold had fallen away and he looked forward, eyes shining and unblinking.

Gazib swore in his Calishite tongue. His veneer of manipulation cracked apart. "Memnon's Crackle, what are you?"

"Not a slave." Zanven called for the Weave, shoving the man away from him. Gazib crashed hard to the ground, bringing a side of the tent down with him. Fire jumped from Zanven's outstretched hand, unlike the wild streams before. He controlled it, guiding the scorching jet forward and wishing nothing more than for Gazib to burn away like the rest of his would-be killers. To his dismay, the man muttered arcane words and his fire met resistance.

The two locked horns, magic clashing against magic. "You are like an efreet with your fire and your stubbornness, but they too have fallen to my bindings!" Zanven found himself on the defensive, his spell pushing back against him. "I was wrong. You must be worth triple, quadruple that measly bounty!"

Zanven reached with his free hand to grab for his cup of tea, struggling to keep Gazib's spell from overtaking him. A tendril of magic wrapped around the cup, infusing it with energy, and Zanven did his best to lob it at the wizard. A stream of curses signaled a lapse in concentration. The jet of fire surged and met screams instead of magic.

Smoke filled his nose, a choking stench. He relinquished his spell and struggled to stand. Desperate hands scooped up Peri and pulled Imoen up, fighting against her sleeping weight. "Wake up! Come on, get up, Imoen! We have to get away from here!" Heat filled the cramped tent. The chaos from the inn flashed through his mind and he groaned, clutching his head.

Doing his best to lift Imoen, Zanven stumbled out of the tent with the blaze at his back. Now of all times he wished he was taller and stronger and not so close to Imoen in size. He ignored the growing concern of the carnival goers milling around. He ignored the shouts calling for water.

All that mattered was getting away, to Jaheira and Khalid. To Minsc. Hells, even to Tiax.

* * *

Author's Note: I'm happy it's been enjoyable so far (both for y'all and myself, too!) For the kobolds, I'd never really known about them and dire weasels until trawling through the Forgotten Realms wiki (do that loads of times!), and even then I don't think it was really anything 'in your face' about it. Seeing some art of kobold riders helped inspire going with it in writing. Seemed like a nifty idea and I rolled with it.

I was a tad hesitant to have Zanven be blind honestly, especially with being new to writing and fanfics (I really was afraid it'd be considered... 'gimmicky' I suppose?) It certainly is tricky at times keeping it in line so that descriptions don't get wonky. It started out as an idea partly stemming from the Cult of the Unseeing Eye quest, as well as just a test in creative writing.

Also, I hope that the small carnival cameo is acceptable. I suppose there isn't much precedent for it, I think, but the idea struck me one day and it entertained me to no end. I just had to throw that scene in.


	8. Chapter 8

"Are you okay? Is… is she okay?" There was more worry in the boy's voice when he asked about Imoen.

"We're fine… no, no! Wait!" Zanven didn't mean to shout at the stranger. "Do you know where the inn is?"

"I do. Looking for it?"

Zanven held his tongue. _Why would I ask for it if I'm not? _"Yes, I am. I need to get there"—he waved a hand in front of his face—"but it is a tad difficult for me."

"Why? What's wrong?"

In spite of everything Zanven stilled. Was it not obvious enough? He waved his hand in front of his face again, frustration speeding up the motion.

"Something wrong with your hand? Brother Nalin could fix it up for ya. He heals up all my bruises."

"No, nothing is wrong with my hand!" Zanven said, unable to stop his voice from rising. "I'm blind, you idiot! I need you to show me where the inn is!"

"Hey now, no need to be mean. Even Dilby doesn't yell at me… although he throws rocks at me. He says he's my friend, but I don't believe him."

Zanven pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, I'm sorry. I just need to get there and quickly. Will you help me?"

"Oh, I dunno… Momma always says you need to say please. She always knows what to say."

"_Please _will you take me to the inn?" It'd be easier to just strangle the moron and find it himself, blind or not!

"Yeah, I can help you. Come on." The boy walked close, trying much too hard to help. "You know, I bet you could see better if your eyes weren't so shiny. Weird, huh?"

_Oghma give me patience!_

Insults a plenty raced through Zanven's mind, and he wished nothing more than to release every one of them. He tightened his grip on Imoen and Peri, finding strength in them. He only had to endure the simpleton for a short walk.

* * *

"Here we are." The boy held open the door, leading Zanven inside.

There weren't nearly enough deities to thank that they had made it.

How? How could one person talk that much, and with not a single substantial word uttered? It defied all sense! Even when Imoen prattled on about nonsense, there was always some roundabout way to tie it to something, no matter how insignificant. Minutes had felt like hours in the boy's company.

"Oh, I see someone waving at us. Friends of yours?"

"A woman and two men? One of them real big?" Joy leapt to Zanven's chest. Safety was merely a few steps away! They weaved around tables and chairs to where his companions were.

"Ah, Imoen and Zanven are back!" Minsc said. "No doubt they've spent time merrymaking after our victories! Perhaps too much time?" He laughed.

"Where did you two run off to? What have you been up to and why do you reek of smoke?" Jaheira wasted no time in bombarding him with questions. "Not even a word of where you two disappeared to!"

"D-dear, something seems amiss. C-calm down a moment."

"Calm down? I will not! Khalid, if we are to—"

"Dear, Jaheira, p-please..."

"Her name is Imoen? She didn't tell me that."

"And who are you?" Jaheira asked, turning her ire onto the stranger.

"Who, me? I'm, uh, I'm Noober."

"He helped me find the inn after… well, after..." Zanven nudged Noober. "Thank you for helping me find my way back. You're welcome to go now."

"Oh. Okay. Um, lemme know if Imoen is alright? And if you need any help, too."

"That's quite alright, thank you. You can go. Please." There was no way Zanven could have placed any more emphasis on how much he wanted Noober to go away. He heaved a sigh when he heard the boy's footsteps leaving.

"Minsc, help Imoen to her room," Jaheira said. "Let us get away from all these ears. I've a feeling we've much to discuss." She grabbed a hold of Zanven's arm, pulling him along none to gently.

* * *

"He offered us tea, some kind from Calimshan." Sheepishly, Zanven remembered enjoying the soothing taste. "It made us tired. That or magic, I think." He shifted upon the bed.

"I've heard of such things, b-but to be offered by a host in good faith? And he spoke like me, a C-Calishite?" Zanven nodded. Khalid clicked his tongue, an uncharacteristic sign of disgust.

"And you drank it, just like that? Silvanus take you now, boy, you're hunted! Both of you should've known better!"

Zanven shrunk from Jaheira's rebuke. He twisted the blankets between his fingers and laid his other hand on Peri. "It was a carnival, it should've been safe! I mean, I really didn't want to go, Imoen did."

Jaheira paced holes into the floorboards, her boots clicking. "So long as this bounty is on your head nowhere is safe! Twice now in Nashkel alone and one of them right after we've returned aboveground."

A scowl crept across his face. "This is not my fault! I didn't ask to be condemned!"

"That does not matter! What does is that your bounty is very much a reality and you should treat it as such. Knowledge abound in Candlekeep and it has sapped you of common sense! You're smarter than this. I know you are, you're Gorion's son. What would he—"

"Jaheira, enough!" Khalid's voice sliced through hers. "Why don't you ch-check up on Imoen, and take Peri with you as well. No slaver would p-poison their p-prey, so it must be some sort of sedative, but we must be sure."

Zanven balled his fists and did not move when Peri was lifted off of his lap. Both Khalid and Jaheira left the room, the door whispering behind them. Alone, his anger dissolved away. He wilted, slumping forward with his head in his hands. Tears slipped down his cheeks.

A polite cough caught his attention and he sat up straight, frantically wiping at his face. He had not heard the door open or Khalid's quiet footsteps. The older man took a seat beside him and let loose a flustered sigh. "It always is a little frightening to t-talk over her." Khalid chuckled. "I hope someday, when you find yourself ready for marriage, that you find someone as headstrong as her. Ah, okay, p-perhaps not, judging from that face you're giving me?"

"It should've been safe."

"Yes, it should have been." Khalid patted his shoulder. "I do not approve of her manner, but what she said is true. You two should have let us know where you were. Your b-bounty is an unfortunate reality that you must be careful of."

"But why?" His voice cracked. Fresh tears pooled at the corners of his eyes. "I can't understand why. Who have I wronged? What have I done?" The same unanswerable questions returned, a plague of bewilderment.

"I wish I c-could say, Zanven. I really do."

"Am I to be hunted forever? To be babysat until my luck runs out? Until some thug finally sticks a dagger in me, all for some unknown cause?" He shuddered, cursing himself for letting a muted sob escape.

"So long as I still breath, I shall m-make sure it doesn't c-come to that. You know the same is true for Jaheira and Imoen. We will p-put an end to it."

He should have never left the mines. There were enough rocks there to crawl under. He could waste away in a hole where nobody would think to look for him. Was that not what these people wanted of him anyway? He hid his face in his palms at the bitter thought.

"You always were a peculiar one, you know. Still are of course. Reading the letters Gorion sent, it was hard to b-believe any of it, much less him having a child to b-begin with. How easy magic came to you, your connection to a f-familiar at such a young age, your glow… Developed quite the reputation from those letters."

A budding smile peeked through Zanven's splayed fingers. "He spoke of me?"

"Oh yes. What parent doesn't speak of their child? You're different, with the sorcery in you, but to G-Gorion it was superficial. It was when he really wrote of you that his pride showed. He spoke of a mind always grasping for more, never unwilling to learn. He was pretty certain you'd manage the feat of d-devouring every b-book within Candlekeep! Wasn't it shocking when Jaheira and I saw you at the Friendly Arm and discovered your blindness. All the more impressive."

Zanven cocked his head to the side, hands away from his face. "He didn't say anything about it?"

"Nope, not a word. I d-doubt it mattered to him one bit though. I can hear him now. 'Shall I judge a child based on something he has no control over?'" Khalid laughed, giving his best impersonation of Gorion. "Well, something like that I'm sure. Look at you grinning. There's life in you yet!"

"Did he ever say… what exactly? About what makes me so strange?"

"Well, n-no. Not really, to be honest. He certainly left enough to imagination in his letters. I recognize that look. There's something on your mind."

"It's just… that performer said similar things." The good humor Khalid spurred on vanished. "'I've strange blood in me,' he said… Khalid, what is a genasi?"

Khalid cleared his throat, slow to speak. "I, ah, think I see where this is g-going. You're wondering about yourself."

"Gazib said I'm worth money because of it. At least, as a slave. Perhaps it's related to the bounty."

"In Calimshan, they are called genie-kin. Long ago, my homeland was ruled by genies, and the genasi come from their b-bloodlines. They've the elements in them and it shows in d-different ways, from skin to personality. Admittedly, most of what I know is just from stories, though they often aren't well-received in Calimshan."

"I'm not a Calishite, but I must be something similar, right?"

"Truth b-be told, who knows. Such things go beyond this simple adventurer. G-Gorion certainly must have had this talk with you?"

"Sometimes. He said it was due to my magic and my connection to the Weave. I don't think he really knew exactly himself though."

Such conversations were commonplace when he was younger, mostly spurred on by Imoen's teasing. Growing older, he continued to ask, but his father took to more evasive answers. His curiosity came up with new ways of wondering about himself and they were always steered toward the Weave. It never seemed to be a conversation Gorion was ever fond of.

"Sorcery's roots are often hard to pin down," Khalid said.

"I just thought that what Gazib had said might mean something, especially after the other assassin here in Nashkel and my injuries."

"Far smarter men than us have wondered about such things and gotten no farther. It certainly isn't m-magic without a little mystery. Whatever the case, I am g-glad you are you, miracles and magic and all. As was Gorion."

Zanven wiped at his eyes once more, smiling again. The one who struggled the most to talk was the easiest to converse with. If staying by Khalid's side meant dealing with Jaheira, then so be it.

"Imoen always used to say my great-great-great grandfather was a dragon, or some other such nonsense."

"You wouldn't be the f-first, although I think you lack the scales for that g-guess to be true, and unless you're stealthier than you let on, I haven't seen any hoards."

There was her other theory as well: that he was secretly an angel. He would have none of it. Never mind the absurdity of it; the last thing he wanted was for that stupid nickname to have any justification.

* * *

"You saved me?" Imoen smothered Zanven in a hug. He tensed at the ambush, trying to shrug her off. Years of their friendship had proved such efforts futile, just as they were now; libraries weren't known for building muscle, and boy did he have a couple of noodle arms!

"Me too," Peri cooed, fluttering around them.

"Don't egg her on! Get off of me, you ninny!"

"Aww, I knew you always cared about me! Let me feel the love!" She crushed him more, lifting him to the tips of his toes. "You keep your empathy locked away, but I know it's there. Go on, admit it. You've a heart of gold and Immy's gone and stole it!"

Zanven grunted, doing his best to smack her shins with his staff. "And long since pawned it off, no doubt! Now come on, stop slowing us down!"

His struggles sent them stumbling, but Imoen kept them balanced. She let him go. "Alright, alright. I just wanted to properly thank you now that I'm not snoozing away in the face of danger."

He was right. Khalid and Tiax brought up the rear, close enough now for her to see Khalid's perplexed look and Tiax's sneer at her antics. Minsc and Jaheira walked ahead, looking every bit at home in the wilderness. Together they seemed to inspect every rock and tree they passed. The big man's attentiveness really took her by surprise. His diligence was worlds away from the madness that took him in battle.

"You're getting good at this whole fire thing, aren'tcha? That's two taking the dirt nap because of it, not counting the kobolds."

"That's... one way to put it. How are you so light-hearted about this? Imoen, we were nearly sold into slavery. Killed even!"

She frowned. Well, when he put it that way it certainly did sound pretty bad. No, this pessimism wouldn't do. "We're still standing though. A little bit of grit, a little bit of luck. Tymora's favorite."

"I don't even know if he's dead. Between rushing to rescue Minsc's friend and worrying about Gazib's troupe coming for us, we never even got a real chance to rest!"

Khalid had been adamant about leaving Nashkel. Something about the nasty business of Calishite honor and vengeance. And Minsc's damsel in distress too—if she was still alive. Imoen shook her head. Of course she was. She'd be alive and nobody would be hunting them anymore and everything would be fine.

"Look, just breathe for a moment. Relax and stop letting your mind run circles around itself. You already got a bunch of people after ya, so what's a couple more?" She regretted those words when his shoulders sagged. "That came out all wrong... Look, all I'm saying is things are gonna be alright. Certainly so with the fine retinue you've got tagging along, minus Mister Crazy."

Definitely excluding Mister Crazy.

Zanven nodded, a numb response. He never was chipper to begin with, but Imoen felt guilty for him clamming up. The trek became boring without someone wanting to chat. What fun was the wide open world when they travelled in silence?

Not much at all as Jaheira and Minsc led them through the rocky, wooded terrain of the Sword Coast. At least they had the open sky above them. It definitely beat being underground, tramping through caverns with only dim torchlight showing the way. No kobolds too. Or any other monsters really. Except for all the walking, she could get used to this adventuring business.

Imoen noticed their pace slowed as they came upon a lake and the big man held up an arm. A mixture of snarls and splashes broke through the wilderness' natural hush. Okay, so maybe it was wishful thinking that they'd encounter no monsters. Couldn't really go monster hunting without the monsters.

She put a hand to Zanven's shoulder for a moment and hurried ahead. Fear and curiosity roiled in her stomach. "What is it? What new beastie do we have to deal with?"

Jaheira gave her an unappreciative look. "Gnolls, if you must know. Why are you not staying back?"

Imoen shrugged. "Gnolls, huh? Can't say I've seen one before."

"They are foul dog-men, the ones that stole away my witch!" Minsc said, struggling to keep his anger to a whisper. His great sword was out in a flash. Jaheira hissed when Minsc pushed through the pines, ignoring his companions. "Give me back my Dynaheir or meet steel!"

Dog-men sure described them well enough. There were four of them, tall, beastly things covered in shaggy fur. Minsc stood before them ready to fight, but wavered at finding a strange scene. Two of the gnolls sat on the ground, struggling for their weapons at the intrusion. The other two were caught in some sort of a fight, one forcing the other's head into the lake. It let go, eyeing Minsc warily.

"Why pinklings bother Ludrug? He busy showing who is best champion! Even as exile, Ludrug is best!"

The two parties watched one another, tension in the air. Weapons were brought to bear, but nobody made a move. The one calling itself Ludrug growled lazily, making a shooing motion. "Ludrug busy, go away!" The gnoll beneath Ludrug tried to stand, but yelped and splashed back into the lake when Ludrug kicked it.

Imoen laughed, paying no mind to the inappropriateness of it. Even when Jaheira pulled her back, she couldn't stifle her giggling. Minsc looked at the gnolls and then at his comrades, confusion written all over his face. He readjusted his grip on his sword and held it out once more. "You are gnolls, you must have Dynaheir! If Minsc's witch is missing so much as a single hair—"

"Shut up, big pinkling! What witch? Who Dynaheir? Leave Ludrug be!"

"Wait," the gnoll in the lake said, spluttering through a mouthful of water. "Ludrug, Ingot remembers! He knows this pinkling, the one that fought our clan. He killed a dozen of our brothers before we stopped him. We took his woman, the magic-lady."

Clarity welled in the gnoll's feral eyes. There was no way they wouldn't attack now. Instead of preparing to fight, Ludrug shrugged. Ludrug lifted Ingot up and tossed him aside, the gesture controlled more by boredom than hostility. "Clan not our brothers anymore. Ludrug not care about them or these pinklings." He walked over to his sitting companions and took a seat with them, rummaging through a tattered bag on the ground before chomping down on its contents—a cat? Imoen made a face, further confused by the encounter.

"Where is she?" Minsc demanded. "You will tell Minsc or fury will guide his foot to your backsides!"

Ludrug and the other two sitting gnolls showed no signs of offense at Minsc's threat. Ingot, however, quivered on the ground, scrambling away from the Rashemi. He was smaller and thinner than the others, a runt judging by his treatment. "They put her in the big hole," Ingot said. He glanced over to Ludrug, watching him for a moment before speaking again. "That's where the Red Man said to keep her."

Ludrug bared his fangs, all but snarling. He raised a hand to swipe at Ingot, sending the smaller gnoll skittering. "Mention that pinkling again and Ludrug rip Ingot's tongue out! Clan listen to Red Man and not Ludrug. Following a weak pinkling instead of Ludrug, raaaagh!" Ludrug lashed out, sending his comrades jumping away from his rage.

"We exiled, kicked from our clan for not wanting to follow a pinkling," Ingot said, keeping his distance from Ludrug.

"Show Minsc where his witch is kept. He shall not take no for an answer and will punish every dog that stands in his way!"

Ludrug stirred, now very much angered by the Rashemi's outbursts. Jaheira stepped beside Minsc. "Stay your hands, beasts! We have no reason to fight. Tell us where your clan lies so that we may find our friend and be on our way. Surely helping us take revenge in this small way on those who exiled you is agreeable?"

Ludrug paused, registering the woman with confusion. Ingot perked up and dashed to his fellows, excitedly yapping to them in their tongue. The bigger gnoll seemed ready to thrash the other at first, but was taken in with whatever Ingot was telling him. Ludrug gave a final nod and pushed Ingot forward.

"Ingot has an idea, one everyone likes?" The gnoll looked over his shoulder at the others before returning his gaze to Jaheira. "We like revenge. We want revenge on the Red Man and our clan. We show you our clan's home." Ingot wrung his hands together, tail swishing behind him.

There was definitely something behind the offer. Imoen could feel it emanating from the gnoll's nervous twitching. It was obvious the creature was unused to having the upper hand in haggling. Minsc did not appear to be amused, but Jaheira motioned for him to keep quiet.

"There is more to this idea of yours, isn't there?" Jaheira asked in a controlled tone, impatience threatening to break free.

"Yes, yes. We only help if big pinkling fights Ludrug and wins."

Ludrug was all teeth, smiling as only a gnoll could. "Ludrug is best champion, not help pinkling unless he strong!"

Minsc pounded his chest, thumping so hard Imoen thought her own ribs cracked. "So be it. I've brought bears to the ground with naught but my muscles! Minsc is not afraid of dog-men. He will win and you _will_ give him back his witch!"

"Last pinklings Ludrug fight stupid. They put up no fight at all and Ludrug make pretty tree lady happy. Ludrug beat you like them and enjoy this!"

* * *

Both parties fanned out, creating room for the combatants to clash. Under different circumstances, it might have been a friendly bout rather than the almost gladiatorial match it felt like.

Perhaps without the gnolls. They definitely ruined the atmosphere.

"You'll win, right? Pound him good?" Imoen asked. She had a hand on his arm, unable to reach his broad shoulder. He definitely had the muscle for it.

For all his bluster, Ludrug now looked like quite the menace. The gnoll stalked back and forth, growling and smacking his face. His comrades chimed in, barking what Imoen figured was encouragement. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, frightened stiff watching the monsters.

Minsc enveloped her hand within his own and Imoen felt something furry tickling her palm. "Boo says for Imoen not to worry. Let him comfort you. Minsc will be fine. There is a simple rule to follow for such foes. The bigger they are, the harder I hit!"

"Gnolls aren't known for their honesty," Jaheira said. "Be on your guard, Minsc. If anything so much as strikes me odd, I will not hesitate to end this fight, ludicrous as it is."

"How many trolls has the dog-man wrestled into the snow before?" Minsc smiled before turning toward his foe, determination settling in. "No weapons, no armor. Minsc has agreed to your rules, Ludrug."

Ludrug bared his fangs, that gnoll grin that gave Imoen pause. "Less talk, pinkling! We fight now!"

"Evil dog-man you may be, but you speak to Minsc's heart! Let's get to it then!"

The combatants lumbered toward each other, eyes watching for the first move. Imoen gasped when Ludrug's fist flew into Minsc's gut, doubling the giant over. In the blink of an eye, the gnoll brought his other fist to bear and rocked Minsc to the side. Ludrug shoved Minsc back with a cackle.

The Rashemi straightened up with a grin, rubbing his jaw. "Not bad. You hit like a young cub, but one that has yet to grow into a big, strong bear!" He advanced, shouldering aside a blow and smashing Ludrug's chin with an uppercut. A series of punches sent the gnoll stumbling back and the fighters glared at one another again.

Ludrug's tongue lolled, rolling over his bloodied muzzle. A deviant light flashed in his eyes and his fur rose up. He charged Minsc, claws raking against his skin and trying to bowl him over. Minsc stood his ground, grabbing ahold of Ludrug's arm and trapping it. The two struggled against each other until Minsc bent over, sending Ludrug flying over his hip.

"Minsc can respect love for the fight! Renounce your evil and—"

Ludrug launched from the ground, diving into Minsc's legs. The warrior crumpled to the ground and in seconds Ludrug was all over him, pounding away.

This was awful to watch! Imoen held Boo to her chest and covered her eyes, looking through splayed fingers. The others murmured their discomfort, and Imoen was sure Jaheira was about to step in.

Minsc's forearms protected his face and fended off the pummeling. He twisted, dislodging Ludrug enough to throw off the gnoll's balance, and snuck a hand around the beast's snout. He brought their heads together in a jarring head-butt. The first hit dazed the gnoll and the second knocked him clear off of Minsc.

Both fighters shakily rose to their feet and traded blows, causing Imoen to groan with every hit. Just watching them go at it gave her bruises. Another grappling contest ensued, with Minsc appearing to have the upper hand as he worked his way into a bear hug. With a yowl, Ludrug broke free and sunk his teeth into Minsc's shoulder. Minsc let out a pained bellow to match the gnoll's cry, roaring louder as Ludrug shook his head back and forth.

"Oh, Minsc," Imoen moaned, keeping a hand over Boo's eyes. "Jaheira, do something! Help him!"

Ludrug's companions yipped from the sideline. They stopped when Jaheira hefted her staff, readying their own weapons as she prepared to interfere.

Minsc's fists rammed into Ludrug's head, but the maddened creature's maw stayed locked onto his shoulder. He snaked an arm around Ludrug and suddenly the gnoll left the ground. Ludrug was perched on Minsc's shoulder, legs kicking in the air, and for a moment they formed a pillar. Minsc let loose one of the loudest shouts Imoen had heard from him yet and fell backward, slamming both of them onto the ground. The earth shook as they crashed; it was a wonder a crater hadn't formed in their wake.

Each party watched their fighter with alarm as neither Minsc nor Ludrug moved. Oh gods above, there was no way his back was alright! Neither of them! Their spines had to be broken to pieces!

Imoen's breath stopped when Minsc twitched. She all but squealed when he worked Ludrug's jaws off of his shoulder and pushed him aside. He rose to a sitting position, taking a look at his opponent and shaking his head.

"Do not feel bad, dog-man. Minsc trained hard for these muscles and they have never let him down."

Ludrug's companions glared daggers at them. Ingot whined and scurried over to Ludrug to check his injuries. A clawed hand shot to Ingot's throat and hurled him away. Ludrug howled as he sat up, taking much more time than Minsc to rise. He gave a final snort, a petulant sound had it not come from the hulking creature.

"Pinklings better not be slow. Ludrug not like waiting."

* * *

Muffled mumbling caused her to stir. Her eyes fluttered open, fighting the exhaustion weighing them down. They widened in surprise upon seeing the source of the noise. A mirthless smile split across her face. It was a man, bound and gagged, and when the two made eye contact he thrashed and tried his best to shout through the gag.

"Surely this is a joke," she said, provoking an icy glare. She threw her head back with a sigh, glancing upward to what little of the sky she could see. Streams of sunlight filtered down, a small mercy; thankfully her captors had not deemed it necessary to cover the pit today. "Though I think perhaps the humor is lost on thee."

So far away from their homelands and he brought his country's hostility with him. For all the good it did him to harbor the grudge leagues away on the other side of Faerun. Here he was now, captor turned captive.

"I can only wonder what miscue led thee to share this forced abode with me." He currently lacked the usual bearing of his countrymen; it was hard to maintain one's pride while hogtied. Sensing her judgement, he writhed in futility.

She scooted toward him and he reared back as best he could, much like an incensed cat. She rolled her eyes. "Oh do stop that. It's unbecoming of thee."

_By the Three, please let me not drown in regret for this. _

She grabbed the rag away from his mouth.

"—your hands away from me, witch! Do not smear your grime upon me. (Is it not bad enough that I have been reduced to the same filth as her?)" She smacked him with the dirty cloth twice across the cheek. "Cut that out! Stop this asinine play at vengeance!"

"Yes, I am the vengeful one. Of course."

"Plots are no doubt swimming through your mind as we speak. Act upon them now since it seems these gnolls are incapable of following orders. I'll not suffer the extra indignity of cowardice from my killer. (I tell them to bind her and here she sits, unbound and free!)"

She arched an eyebrow. This was freedom? She had the luxury, if one could call it that, of frail bonds and apathetic captors; what did the gnolls care if she broke from rotten rope while deep within the pit.

"What truly goes on in thy mind?"

Or any Thayvian's for that matter. It had to be tiring to have such a view of the world, though that couldn't be the case. They never once tired of waging war against her brothers and sisters.

"More than you could ever hope to comprehend. I would ask the same of you if I hadn't already the disappointing answer. Though your partner was a surprise, I admit. I did not think it possible a bag of rocks could contain more than a brain."

She returned his sneer with a glare. She took hold of his bindings and pulled at them. The man grunted as the rope tightened. "A mind such as thine and here thou art. Please, enlighten me as to why. I surely couldn't work the reason out alone." Another tug had him swearing in pain.

"If you would—agh, stop that! If you would just… ah, you have my _sincerest_ thanks. (A novice's attempt at torture, pfah.) I made the mistake of thinking gnolls in this backward region understood the concept of loyalty as well as those in Thay. No doubt inferior breeds mirroring the rest of this land's inhabitants."

"Overstayed thy welcome, hmm? A shame considering here I am, still alive."

"Oh, yes. Take your life as victory in this stinking hellhole. Had these mongrels only listened to me... Was it not enough I graced them with this abandoned fortress or provided them with prey? Only for them to turn on me!"

"How so?"

"Wouldn't you love to know—agh!" As quick as his sneer appeared, it melted away into a grimace. "A conflict of interest. I desired information, they desired meat. Really, I deserve thanks for wanting you alive a little while longer than they planned. (Perhaps telling me why she's away from home, for starters. A little something before we both roast over a fire.)"

"Thou reap what thou sow. A most deserved fate for thee."

"Then what does that say of you since we will share the same fate? Come off of it, you harpy."

She moved away, sitting back against the wall again. They ignored each other in silence, except for the man's occasional grunts as he worked against the rope keeping him in place. He heaved a great sigh.

"Tell me, how is it you've escaped your bindings? A spell of sorts? Trickery? No doubt they took care to make sure a threat such as I could never break free, but overlooked you."

"I ripped them apart with mine hands. Nothing more, nothing less." She smiled, making a show of flexing her fingers. "Thy ropes are no stronger than mine were. What sort of men do they have in Thay that they cannot expend enough strength to break such a simple harness?"

"Oh," he said, a smirk slithering across his face, "were I back in Thay I'd be more than willing to show you the extent of Thayan manhood. (Wipe away what filth that doesn't come naturally to her and she's a comely wench.)" Lust swam in his eyes.

Indignation flared in her chest. "Thou will stop thy lecherous drivel in mine presence!" She balled up the rag, launching it at his face. His smirk remained, annoyance only briefly marring it. "I had not thought wizards of thy stature could be so easily vanquished."

"We aren't, as you know. I would have thought melting your mountains and scorching your lands was proof enough of that. (I will break these bonds, I will!) Agh, blast!" He tipped over in his struggle, his face smooshed into the ground. "Yes, yes, laugh it up, or perhaps do something useful instead and untie me?"

"Thou wouldst ask the prisoner to aid her warden?"

"('Thou wouldst ask…' bah!) Is it not abundantly clear I am no longer the warden? I aspire for freedom, whether or not you do. We will die here together if we do nothing! As much as it would appease me to see you fall, I value my life far too much to end up in some dog's stomach. Untie me!"

The prospect of helping him made her uneasy. He had masterminded her capture in the first place and separated her from her companion. Her recent ills all lay squarely at his feet, and now after a moment of weakness caused by his own hand he asked for her help.

Unfortunate as it was, a truce was in order. Their chances were already bleak enough working together. Alone it was no more a death sentence than awaiting what the gnolls had in store for them.

She moved toward him and set him upright. She then proceeded to rifle through his mangled robes.

"Wha-what _are_ you doing? I say it again, stop touching me! I know you come from barbarism, but surely even the Rashemi have some modicum of respect for privacy!"

She rolled her eyes, ignoring his mewling. No spell components hidden away. No spellbook. Nothing at all, save for the clothes on his back and the gaudy amulet hanging at his neck. When she reached to further inspect it, his anger reached a fevered pitch.

"No! Here I draw the line! You would think to rob me of a personal treasure in our predicament? Is there no shame in your backwater country? Feh, had I the chance to fend you away, the opportunity to… to stop… you…" He trailed off, his bindings undone. She had ripped them apart in his tirade and he could stretch his limbs out. "I am free?"

_Slap!_

"Ow! What in every one of the hells was that for, woman?" He rubbed his cheek, glaring at her.

"For thy words, though I could justify it with mine circumstances as well." Nothing had been more satisfying then reddening his cheek. "Thou art untied, but we are still in this pit without our resources. Thou hast spent much longer here than I so thou must know this fort's layout, their numbers…"

He held his cheek, still aghast. "(The harpy struck me!)" He coughed, settling an unamused look on her. "Yes, of course I know these things. I've had them on my mind and more since their betrayal, unlike you. I require my equipment, my spellbook, components…" He looked at her, an eyebrow raised at her outstretched hand.

"An armistice, if thou canst honor such a thing."

He took her hand with a limp shake, expressing disgust. "Fine. I shall assuage your feelings, although it will not be honor that grants us our freedom."

* * *

Author's Note: Minsc is on loan from the WWE. His dejemma is code for a quest to suplex and slam all different kinds of things daring to stand in his way (Boo's totally a secret luchador too.) Edwin, though, surely not. Probably doesn't even lift. Dynaheir on the other hand... Found it funny to find Dynaheir with a higher STR score than Edwin and had to play with it!

Godbless NPCs. Nothing brings me as much joy as playing around with them outside of the usual little in-game blurbs they might have to offer and that's it.


	9. Chapter 9

"Thou art sure of this, that this is the way?"

"Yes, yes, a million times yes! (Were it a trap wouldn't we be bloodied and strung up by now?) Spare me your distrust and follow like a good chimp!"

She stared at him, hands on her hips. He turned and gestured for her to move forward. With a sigh and a shake of her head she resumed her pace.

Climbing out of the pit had been taxing, demanding a strain on muscles neglected in captivity. They were lucky their captors left the pit open; even luckier to have avoided any patrols as they crept through the fort's halls. Around every corner she imagined a gnoll's growling face lying in wait.

"Why have we stopped again?" She watched him examine the empty room just like the others. His eyes scanned everything, flitting over the old desks and bookcases. A peculiar sharpness pooled in his orbs until his concentration registered her question.

The man glared at her as if her question had an obvious answer. "You think me a fool to leave behind my belongings to these mongrels? (Would she expect a soldier to wage war without a weapon?) No, I will not escape empty-handed and unable to defend myself. Just as I'm sure you'd like returned your feathers and bones and whatever other barbaric totems they took."

He spent another moment searching the room before leaving with a frustrated cry. She hurried after him as they came upon another. "We do not have all day for this! Whatever items left behind surely cannot equal our freedom."

"(No, this cannot be! Where are they? What have they done with my scrolls?) These items _are_ our freedom! We are nothing without our grimoires, or have you forgotten the tools of our trade? Surely even your backward culture of witchcraft understands this. No, we cannot leave. Not yet!" He tore through the room, ignoring her.

"We are wasting precious time! We have to—"

Snarls bounced off the walls, the echoes a harrowing reminder of the danger they were in. Her eyes widened and she turned from the man to survey the halls. She snatched up his arm and marched him out of the room.

"No, unhand me! I've not yet finished looking!"

"We go. Now! Lead the way and be quick about!" He tried to shove her aside, but she refused to budge. "If thou value thy life as much thou sayeth then thou willst move!" The angry barks grew louder, silencing a budding argument on his lips.

He led her further into the twisting hallways, only stopping to determine what direction they headed. She could only hope he knew where he was going, and at times a nagging paranoia hung in the back of her mind. The stonework around them eventually crumbled away, leading into a cavernous tunnel. It opened up onto the cliff face the fortress occupied. The night sky looked down on them, Selune's Tears dancing around the moon high above.

He stood with his back turned to her as they breached the exit and then turned to her. "Make no mistake, were I under different circumstances I would have shown you no such graciousness. (Had the beasts not twisted my arm…)" He pointed off into the distance and walked. "This path up ahead will lead us away from here and from then we part ways."

"Would it not be more favorable to continue together until reaching the nearest town?"

"As enjoyable as this truce of ours has been, I want it severed. I've kept my word, which is an honor beyond what you deserve. (She can be cracked, but that is for another time.)"

He would trek through the wilderness unarmed and alone rather than accept company? She had every reason to want him gone, but her offer to travel together a little longer seemed a sensible enough idea. Even knowing he harbored hostility toward her still, the situation called for looking past that.

_Fine. Let the fool have his way. _

They crept up the path, every loose pebble kicked aside sending them into alarm. She watched him through sidelong glances. He was muttering to himself again, although this time he was quieter about it. "Thy name, what is it? I am owed that small luxury."

His muttering came to a halt. "You are owed that? I owe you nothing, especially once we are past that bridge there. Once we cross the river we are enemies again." He picked up his pace. Silence stretched between them until he startled her with a sigh. "Edwin. Now tell me yours."

"Thou knowest not the name of thy captive?"

"Humor me. It seems I've forgotten."

She smirked at his deadpan. "I am called Dynaheir. Thou hadst me captured and kneweth not mine name?"

"That is business you shall not be privy to. Do not pester me anymore. (She will spill everything to me in time. Everyth—gack!)"

Something large ambushed them. Edwin thrashed in its grip, clawing at the hand around his throat. The ground rumbled beneath her as a second form moved closer.

"Gnolls tell us to watch for you and now we found you! We not let you pass our bridge. Back to the gnolls you go!"

With nothing to defend herself with, Dynaheir surged forward to flee past the creature. She was not fast enough. With unexpected speed it scooped her up and hoisted her over its shoulder. "Gnolls not happy. Not happy at all."

She had been so close and yet she was denied!

Dynaheir screamed. She beat against the creature's back. Angry tears streaked down her cheeks. Her wailing only stopped when a fist bashed against her head.

* * *

"Come on, just cross the bridge! You'll be fine."

"I… I think I'm quite fine right here."

"You weren't so scared down in the mines."

"That's because rocks do not sway beneath your feet! And if I remember correctly it was you clinging to me the whole time."

Imoen crossed her arms over her chest. Zanven shifted his feet, tapping the ground with his staff. Everybody else had already begun crossing.

"I just watched four gnolls walk across this bridge before any of us set foot on it, and Minsc is having no problems either. If it can hold all of them it'll hold you. Let's go!"

"I just don't think… I mean, I can stay here, wait until you all are—hey!"

Imoen seized his arm and dragged him toward the bridge. "Look one way or another we gotta get across the river just like everybody else." She pulled him along until he dug in his heels.

"I-I-I'll fall over or the bridge will snap or-or gods know what!"

"You will not! Nobody else has and they're all almost on the other side now. You're worrying over nothing." Zanven wrestled his arm away. She sighed; there was no way they could just leave him behind. She stared at his familiar and her eyes lit up. "Hey Peri."

The dragon looked between her and Zanven, confusion etched onto his face. "No. Whatever she says, whatever she does, do not listen to her," Zanven said.

"Oh, stop it! Just come here a moment, Peri. I need to tell you something and just you." The promise of a secret worked magic. Peri's head cocked to the side, reluctance giving way to interest.

"Anything you need to say you can say to me. Aloud. To both of—Peri, no! Get back here!" He reached out too late, catching air as his familiar fluttered over to Imoen. "Do _not _listen to her!"

"What is it? What's for me?" Peri asked, hovering near her.

"Well, you see"—she lashed out before he could react, hugging him tightly—"easy now, just listen," Imoen whispered. "I need you to fly across without us and stay over there. You go over before us and wait with everybody. You trust me, right… well, maybe not, but you should! Here, you do this, and I've got some of those carnival sweets with your name on 'em!"

Suspicion fled the fairy dragon, his tail swishing. Imoen let go and watched him sail over the bridge. She turned toward Zanven. "Just you and me now."

"I-you… Peri!"

Imoen clasped his hand. "Either I'm your eyes or you stay over here by yourself."

"Imoen please!"

"Deep breaths and happy thoughts. A step at a time and we'll be done before you know it." She tugged him along, her fingers aching in his grip. His resistance melted away enough to take one step onto the bridge and then another. "Just like that! Angelboy's a trooper!"

"Don't call me—_Imoen_!" The bridge swayed to one side, sending him into a fit. "Back! Let me go back right now!" He tensed up, every muscle stiff as a board; it was like dragging a tree, albeit a rather weak one.

She shushed him and continued to guide him across. It was slow going, but he cooperated in spite of his protests. "You've got it easy right now. You can't even see how far a drop it is down to the river." She winced as he crushed her fingers. "Okay. Poor choice of words."

A shrill voice yelled out to them. "Hurry up! Make Tiax wait any longer and he'll cut the bridge and be done with you!"

Unkind, but it did the trick. Zanven was more apt to hustle after the gnome's threat and Imoen too; that was one bluff she wasn't going to call. He all but jumped off of the bridge as they reached the other side. He ripped his hand away from her and grumbled when Peri perched on his shoulder.

"Y'know, we're gonna have to cross again when we come back."

He _really_ didn't like that judging from the new wave of muttering. Imoen smiled and prodded him along to catch up with everybody else.

* * *

Much to his chagrin his body still quaked. Even now he had to remind himself the ground beneath him was very much solid. No feeble bridge and no river to fall into it.

"Are you still angry, Master?"

"No."

"You look like you are. I can share a sweet with you if you'd like."

"Well I'm not. I'm not mad! I don't want your candy!"

"Oh he's mad. Bet he'll stew over it all day too."

He huffed, fingers antsy on his staff. Just one good thwack. A single one right across her head. She only deserved it.

"Huh," Imoen said, "at just the right angle you kinda look like Jaheira with that scowl of yours. Needs some more work to be menacing though."

He frowned at being compared to Jaheira of all people. It was a losing battle against his curling lips as a smile overwhelmed him. "Gods you're insufferable!"

"Aww, thank you! I do try really hard."

He sighed, knowing she'd won. It was no use sulking around her. "Leave it to you to take that as a compliment… Are we any closer to this place? Wherever these gnolls are leading us?"

"Think so. They said something about a big ol' fort and there's one up ahead. Minsc wanted to charge right on into it the moment he saw it. Bit of a hike still from the looks of it." She coughed, hiding a chuckle. "Think those shaky legs of yours will make it? I can carry you if you'd like this time, but you'll have to repay the favor."

"Shut up."

Insufferable didn't do her justice.

It was a blessing that the group came to a stop as Jaheira called for everyone's attention; at least the stern woman was good at saving him from Imoen's prattle. The gnolls' impatient growls signaled stopping grated on their nerves.

"They tell of a more clandestine way into the keep," Jaheira said. "While I am loath to continue trusting them it would be unwise to walk through the front door."

"Oh so we're sneaks now? I can do that just fine!" Imoen said.

"Why must Tiax sneak into these gnolls' decrepit hovel? His lessers should know when to welcome their master without question!"

Zanven shared a sigh with Jaheira. An unspoken connection hung between them: tolerating others was hard.

"There is another way into the fort," Jaheira continued, "that lies underneath. The gnolls know of a series of caves leading inside. Castles often have tunnel systems as a means of escape during turbulent times. We will enter that way."

* * *

The grinding of stone on stone woke her with a fright. Light trickled into the pit, a gift were it not for her captivity. She shielded her eyes, making out the gnoll lumbering down the steps.

"I sincerely hope you try to have some dignity in death. No doubt our failure to escape spurred on their hunger."

Dynaheir spared Edwin a glare before she was pulled to her feet. Edwin was treated much the same, hissing in protest; it earned him a blow to the face that sent him to the ground and he was lifted back up. The spear at their backs convinced them to march up the crumbling stairs.

A chorus of snarls welcomed them upon exiting the pit. Gnolls formed two lines leaving little room to walk through them. Like cattle, they were prodded through the formation. Dynaheir flinched from the storm of gnashing teeth and groping claws. There was no dignity to be found, as even the cringing Thayan discovered. Dread wormed its way down her spine. She would be slaughtered this day.

It was a wonder they made it through the crowd alive. The gnoll shoving them along made certain of that, fending off any of those too enthusiastic in harassing them. Their robes were little more than bloody tatters by the end of the march. They were greeted by two more of the beasts: one brandished a pair of knives, the other hefted an axe. The axe wielder adorned itself with bones and scrap metal woven into its fur; their leader perhaps?

The axe dropped without warning, stilling before it could cleave Dynaheir's head clear from her shoulders. Her heart stopped. It cackled in her face, the fetishes all over it clattering as it shook with laughter. Taking its cue the clan of gnolls joined in.

"They are toying with us. You would play into their game and give them the satisfaction they seek?" Edwin asked. He straightened and stared back at the gnoll with an aura of defiance. It bared its fangs and looked to its companion behind it, motioning with a clawed finger. It stepped aside and the other gnoll rushed forward, tackling him to the ground.

Sadism danced in its eyes. It scraped its knives together, an all-too-eager butcher ready for its toil. Dynaheir shut her eyes when Edwin screamed. The soft whisper of lacerations gave away the gnoll's intent: this was not to be a swift nightmare. She crumpled to her knees and wretched.

Not having its fill of fun from torturing just one, the gnoll rolled off of Edwin and crawled toward her. She tried to scramble away but a claw locked around her ankle and wrenched her over. Her screams did no better than Edwin's in warding off the intrusive blades. Pain overwhelmed her mind. She squirmed away from the steel's bite, but it only provoked deeper cuts. Their torturer shifted back and forth between imitating its victim's screams, cruel in its replication.

This was not how she imagined her travels to end. She was far away from home and separated from her ward. Worse yet accompanying her into death was the fool who masterminded her capture. She cried under the blade, every whimper met with a heartless mimic of her own voice.

* * *

"Bad dogs came back! They very angry! They bring their own pinklings and killed Gnarl!"

"Give back Minsc's witch! Evil will die here for tearing her away from her berserker! Watch, Boo, as I do the dirty work of justice! Rrraaagghh!"

He bounded after the wounded monster in a rage. The gnolls had no problem keeping pace with him, their snarls echoing through the tunnel. Everybody else was left scrambling to keep up.

"Perhaps I did not emphasize clandestine enough," Jaheira yelled. "Finish that creature off before the entire damned fortress knows we are here!" Her barbs fell on deaf ears; the source of her ire was far too busy in their pursuit, not even sparing her a look as they rounded the corner.

Things _had_ been clandestine. Right sneaks they were… up until they came upon those couple of ogres watching over the caves. It took little more than a shoddy insult to rile up the gnolls and of course a fight broke out; one that saw an ogre dead and another fleeing for its life. Ludrug and Minsc were like flies to honey when it came to battle, and boy were the ogres honey.

"Staying put wasn't such a bad idea now was it?"

"Bit of a poor time for your complaints!"

Imoen struggled with Zanven as they ran together. Her legs pumped as she did her best to avoid tangling herself up with him. It was hard enough trying to keep up and that much more so if they tumbled to the ground. The chase sent them further through the caves until they turned into hallways. The corridors gradually inclined, stairways leading them upward. The din of her comrades was a blessing; without it she would have gotten the both of them lost in the twisting passageways.

She caught up with them in time to find Minsc finishing the monster off. The gnolls danced around the corpse, delighting in the kill. Jaheira was not thrilled.

"Must every plan break down before we have a chance to act on it?" Imoen noticed her send a withering stare Tiax's way before addressing Minsc. "You do us no favors by blindly charging on!"

Minsc did not appear to sense any of her agitation. "Ah, Jaheira, that is not so. Minsc is heroic and our enemies must know this. Besides, Boo says I am an inspiration!"

Jaheira's grimace hardened. "Ask Boo this then. What will heroism matter if it gets us killed? You've made enough noise to rile up every gnoll along the entire coast!"

"To be fair, at least these ones were riled up before hand," Imoen said, pointing at Ludrug and his companions. Jaheira narrowed her eyes. Imoen shrank away, whistling a quiet tune.

Satisfied with their strange post-kill ritual, the gnolls went on alert. Their fur stood on end and they sniffed the air, growling under their breath. Only Ingot seemed nervous, not sharing the sudden onset of alarm. "Our clan is near. They know we are here. They must know! We should not have come back, Ludrug! Ogres dumb but our brothers—"

Ludrug grabbed him by the neck and brought his face close. "Clan not brothers!" He shook Ingot with every word, the gnoll an over-sized ragdoll in his grip. "Ludrug kill clan, kill Red Man."

"And show Minsc where his witch lies!"

Ludrug waved a hand at Minsc and let go of Ingot. "That too. Come pinklings. Ludrug show you why he is best!"

* * *

Something was not right. For starters she was still alive. Why did they not finish her off? Sickness roiled in her stomach. Perhaps the torture was meant to continue later.

Dynaheir rolled over and fought to lift her head up. Her captors rushed around, scrambling to arm themselves. Sounds of battle rang in the distance. She was left alone next to Edwin, forgotten amidst all the disarray. She laid a hand on Edwin's shoulder and shook him, wincing from the jolt in her arm.

"Edwin? Edwin, art thou… alright?"

Was he alive?

A groan escaped him, muffled from him facing downward. "(I am flayed like a piece of meat and she asks if I am alright? Let me die now lest I suffer another idiotic question.)"

Dynaheir wanted to thump him, but pain stayed her hand. She crawled into a sitting position, doing her best to ignore her screaming injuries. No gnolls were nearby. "Canst thou move?"

"Of course I can mo—gah!" Edwin clutched at his side. He lifted his hand, staring between his red-stained hand and her. Such a harrowing epiphany to come to terms with one's own mortality.

All of this was his fault. He had put both of them in this situation. He deserved the barbarity for it and no doubt for acts he had committed back in Thay. One less Red Wizard was a boon to Faerun.

Dynaheir closed her eyes and sighed. She laid an arm around him. "We must get out of the open." He protested at first, a feeble attempt at shoving her away. She ignored him and together they crawled back to the pit. They collapsed onto the upper steps, hidden from view.

"Yes, verily, such a bastion of safety. (Reimprisoning ourselves. How thoughtful to put ourselves back in our cells for the beasts.)"

"Keep quiet!"

Wounded as he was he still possessed enough of his mind to spew sarcasm. A shove would send him down the steps; really nothing more complicated than a light tap would have him crashing to the bottom. She banished away the thought, as tempting as it was.

Clashing weapons and battle cries neared, no longer off in the distance. Dynaheir edged them further from the top of the pit. Best to stay out of sight and let the assault pass. Anybody shedding gnoll blood was at least a temporary ally at worst.

"Could the gnolls have warranted a purge by local authorities?"

"Ha! Stow your optimism. Nobody knows of this place. (Nobody that matters at least.) More likely that a band of even worse monsters wandered here and is currently busy seeing how well these gnolls understand 'Might makes right.'"

His miserable attitude worried her. While it was folly to try fate, things could become worse. She refused to give such scenarios thought.

Squeals of pain pierced the air and Dynaheir allowed herself a smile. Whoever it was had the advantage. A roar rumbled over the cries of wounded gnolls and her grin faltered in shock. _It couldn't be_. Again it rumbled, its intensity crashing through the air. Her heart leaped to her throat and her smile returned with a vengeance.

Dynaheir poked her head above the lip of the pit. A host of gnolls surrounded their foe, though it was obvious they were in the midst of a retreat. She made out the motion of a great blade, the weapon dancing in a spray of blood with every swing. She could see the giant of a warrior in the crowd wading through the monsters. There were others too—even infighting amongst the gnolls?

"Minsc!" she shouted. "I am over here, Minsc!" She ducked her head down and shook Edwin. "We are saved, blasted wizard! We shall not rot here until feasted upon by our captors!"

She went to show herself once more to catch Minsc's attention; instead she came face to face with the bone-clad gnoll. It pulled her away from Edwin with a bark. It pointed to her advancing ward, garbling in its language, and raised its axe to her neck.

No! Not again! Dynaheir shrieked and thrashed in its grasp, fury and frustration boiling over. The gnoll threw her to the ground and stepped on her stomach. With her pinned, it brought its axe overhead to properly cleave her in two; no games this time.

It wasn't given the chance. There was a blur of fur and a body crashed into it, sending the two down in a heap. Dynaheir skittered away in disbelief as another gnoll turned on her would-be killer. They rolled along the ground in a cacophony of snarls, claws raking and teeth tearing. The two gnolls disentangled from each other and found their weapons, briefly halting the brawl to exchange hateful glares.

"You let pinkling lead clan"—their blades collided—"You follow Red Man"—the axe missed again and again, unable to keep up—"You shame Ludrug! Chieftain of nothing, Ludrug make sure!"

The blows sent the other reeling, the battering too strong and too quick. Its axe clattered to the floor, the clink accompanied by a yelp; a hand fell away with it, claws wrapped around the hilt. It raised its arms in desperation to block the next strike, sending it stumbling to the ground. Another strike sliced through its shoulder down to its midsection. Before it had time to drop dead onto the stone its killer pounced; the execution finalized in a whirlwind of savagery.

Satisfied with its kill, the gnoll rose from the remains. Blood covered its fur in a gory visage. It advanced toward her and the pit, dragging its blade behind it. "Red Man is no champion!"

Dynaheir dove between Edwin and the gnoll. "No! He is mine to do away with!"

Her defiance stopped the gnoll. It cocked its head, studying her. "Ludrug promise big pinkling his woman. You her." It jerked a thumb toward Minsc and the others moving toward them. It then gestured for her to move with a wave. "Ludrug have Red Man."

Edwin coughed. "Am I not to have a say in my own defense? I am not—" A growl cut him off. He shifted into muttering under his breath.

Ludrug loomed over them, and Dynaheir feared it'd opt for killing them both. The gnoll turned away as Minsc and the others arrived. It stomped its foot. "Big pinkling, tell your woman move! This one his now!"

Minsc looked between her and the gnoll, an eyebrow raised. "Dynaheir is not Minsc's woman. She is his witch." He raised his sword and came to her side. "I do not like the way you are looking at her, dog-man."

"Ludrug," Dynaheir said, provoking a glare, "I know not why, but this 'Red Man' has played you all for fools at mine expense. You were pawns used to capture me until his scheming went awry. Thou art angry, as thou should be. I beg of thee though, hand him to me as my prisoner now. I have the right to retribution."

Edwin spluttered. "You dare to haggle over me?"

"Yes, and if thou wouldst like to continue living then keep thy mouth shut!" she whispered before addressing the gnoll. "I can attest to knowing thy fury, Ludrug, but leave him to me. Thou hast usurped thy leader. Take thy clan and this keep as spoils."

Ludrug paced, arms flailing. "Why not have it all? Clan, keep, and kill!" The gnoll halted and pointed a finger at Minsc. "We fight again! For Red Man. Ludrug say no to anything else."

What? No! After all the chaos there was no need for more.

"Is there no other way?" Dynaheir asked. "Surely we can find a better alternative than—"

"Your blood boils for another round, eh? Minsc accepts your challenge, but no biting this time!"

"Oh, wonderful. My life is in the hands of that overgrown clod of yours," Edwin said.

Dangle anything remotely close to a fight in front of Minsc and he'd jump at the chance for it. An all too common trait amongst Rashemi berserkers.

"Really this is unnecessary. This is not a lodge brawl to show off thy masculinity!" Dynaheir said.

Minsc scooped up his witch and the wizard, carrying them over to his friends. "Worry not! I've bested the dog-man once before and I can do it again."

"Of all the brutes in that cesspool of backwardness you call home you picked this one to follow you. (To think, either he loses and I die or he wins and I'm a Rashemi puppet.)"

She was caught between glaring at Edwin and giving Minsc a pleading look. "Thou need not take part in bloodsport, Minsc. There has been enough combat."

Minsc shook his head as if chiding her. He set them down and turned toward Ludrug. "Let us rest off our fatigue and then we shall fight. Minsc is tired and Boo is itching to fill his belly. He gets cranky when he is hungry."

"I wonder if I should even ask who Boo is," Edwin said.

Dynaheir hid her face in her palms.

* * *

Zanven rolled to his side with a yawn. Sleep should not have been as elusive as it was, especially not after trekking through the mountains and fighting gnolls; that was all behind him now, finalized by Minsc's second victory. He'd trade his shoddy bed roll and the rocks beneath him for a proper bed; even more to keep the monsters and assassins from breathing down his back. He fidgeted until facing the sky, arms crossed over his chest.

Fire crackled in his ears alongside whispering voices— rather, one whispering voice. Minsc couldn't whisper even if he tried. Zanven sighed before giving up on sleeping. Between the big man's voice and the ground, everything conspired against him to ruin his rest. He rustled out from his bed roll, careful not to upset his familiar, and eased his way toward the voices.

"—and we rooted out the evil plaguing Nashkel! Kobolds behind every stone, but they could not hide from Minsc and Boo and our new comrades!"

"Temper thine excitement, Minsc. Not so loud lest thou disturb everyone."

"Ah, I am sorry. I cannot help but get carried away. You will like them, Dynaheir, although perhaps you should stay away from the gnome. Boo tells me he is a strange one and that he smells funny."

"I will make sure to take Boo's… wisdom into consideration. Really, must thou constantly defer to that rode—oh. I am sorry. Did we wake you?"

Zanven jumped, feeling like he intruded upon them. "I, uh, no, nothing of the sort. Can't quite get to sleep tonight it seems." He stood still, unsure whether to shuffle over or not.

Minsc instead made the decision for him; he strode over and pulled him down next to them. "Sleep is important, but maybe it is good you cannot rest. Come, sit with us! Minsc has told Dynaheir all about his companions. She should hear from someone else so she does not think me a liar."

"Rest assured, Minsc, that I do not take thee for a liar." Polite restraint filled her tone. "Zanven, is it? Thou hast mine gratitude. I shudder to think of how few days I had left in that keep if left alone."

Zanven rubbed his neck. "We've gotten pretty good at rescuing people lately… Are your wounds any better?"

"As well as can be, all things considered. I have been made well enough to travel on mine own feet thanks to Jaheira."

"And Edwin?"

"Alright." Her pleasant tone hardened. "I shall have a word with everybody about him soon enough."

Silence stretched between them. Had he given her insult somehow? He wrung his hands in his lap.

Minsc threw his arms over them in an embrace. "Things will be much better now that we are united. Already I can see the good we will do together, and woe to those that hunt you, Zanven! You've many a watchful eye in your friends, but now you've the eyes of a witch too!"

"I, um, yes. That does make me feel better." Zanven eased out from under Minsc's arm. Worry washed over him. Minsc was being a little too loose for his comfort.

"Those that hunt you?" Dynaheir asked, alert and inquisitive. "What is thy meaning, Minsc?"

"Zanven is targeted by evil. We were attacked once at the Nashkel Inn and there was another at the carnival. Weren't the villains surprised by his magic though!" Minsc clicked his tongue. "Only the lowest of men hunt for bounties. They are monsters to try and line their pockets with blood gold."

"Magic? A bounty?" She sounded confused, though concern laced her words. "For what reason are people seeking thy head?"

Zanven felt more questions forming on the woman's lips. He squirmed. "I do not know."

"Minsc shall not let them cause any harm to you. His friends are worth more than any bounty." Minsc clapped his shoulder and Zanven almost tumbled forward.

"Be that is it may, the reasoning is still a matter of importance. I find it odd that someone of no consequence would have a bounty on their head."

Zanven shrugged. He stood up, intent on making his way back to his bed roll. "I, ah, think I shall try to sleep again. Good night."

The conversation slipped down a path he wanted no part of. It was already a difficult subject to broach with his father's old friends. Minsc vouched for her with quite the enthusiasm, but she was still a stranger to him.

"Perhaps you can try counting hamsters. Minsc finds that helps him sleep easier," Minsc said as Zanven hurried away. Dynaheir sighed at her ward and thankfully didn't try to pull him back with any more questions.

Hamsters were the last thing on his mind as he struggled to sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Dynaheir watched her ward's head bob up and down, his fatigue catching up with him. "Minsc, thou shouldst sleep."

"But Dynaheir," Minsc mumbled, weariness weighing down every word, "Minsc and Boo have finally found you. I must keep watch so you are not lost—"

"Let thy worries be. I am free now." Dynaheir laid a hand on his. "I am going nowhere. Thou hast earned rest. Everybody has."

"Minsc can stay awake. It is fine. Dynaheir does not need to keep watch, not while her berserker"—a great yawn escaped him—"still stands."

She patted his hand. "No and that is final. I do not have to be a Wychlaran to see thou art exhausted." She shoved him away with a friendly push. "Go to bed, Minsc. When I tire I shall wake another to keep watch."

The warrior grumbled, but gave in to his witch. He lumbered off to his bed roll and soon his snoring joined in with everybody else's—albeit quite a bit louder. She couldn't help the smile that strayed. For all of his size, she felt like a mother dealing with a child.

Dynaheir turned to the fire, watching it for a time. She tapped her knee and peered around at her sleeping companions. What an odd group Minsc had the good fortune of finding. Khalid and Jaheira were kind enough sorts, though the woman wasn't nearly as pleasant as her husband; still, her healing had helped with the gnolls' torture so she couldn't complain. Dynaheir did not misunderstand their affiliation though. Minsc, the Three bless him, did not catch the meaning of the couple's brooches, but she did: those two were Harpers.

Yet while they were Harpers, the others surely weren't. The gnome was addled, an odd sort she hardly had time to try and understand. The girl was completely opposite in her cheer and chattiness. The boy was last. Her eyes rested upon Zanven's sleeping form. He had proved himself a riddle in short order.

Minsc had burst through the boy's shyness just an hour earlier and spilled loose information that caused Zanven unease. She had wanted to pry into the bounty, but he had excused himself. It was not difficult to see that the boy was out of his element; it certainly seemed obvious enough seeing the cloth wrapped around his eyes. Curiosity brewed in her head. She would have to content herself with knowing things would most likely be explained later.

Movement caught her attention and she tensed. She frowned, finding Edwin stirring in his sleep. Anger flared and for a moment she cursed herself for even bothering to have the man spared. The Red Wizard had been nothing but trouble, just as his ilk was to be. He certainly wouldn't have given her the same luxury were their roles reversed. Lesser people than her wouldn't have allowed their once-captor mercy.

Mercy, however, allowed for clarity. Leaving him to be torn to bits by an angry gnoll gave her no answers as to why she was important to him. Answers that, as her glare lingered, she wanted right now.

Dynaheir stood up with a huff and marched over to him. "Wake up." She sat down and prodded his side. "I shall not say it again."

Edwin ignored her at first. When her prodding became more forceful he awoke with a start, one hand stretching out and another reaching for his waist. He relaxed when he saw it was her. "What? What reason do you have to ruin my slumber? (Oh to have my spells back... or at the very least my dream. Am I not afforded the sanctuary of my mind now?)"

"I wish to talk with thee."

He groaned. "Can it not wait until the morn?"

"It can, though I'm not sure what will become of thee then. I know not what our companions will do if they learn of thine actions. Only that they will not like them."

Edwin tensed again and let out a hiss. "You wake me up to threaten me?"

Dynaheir crossed her arms. "I am not as childish as thee to waste our time with threats. As it stands, come morning our companions will desire to know what led us to be in gnoll hands. I will be telling them, of course."

"Ah. Let me guess. They will side with the damsel-in-distress and I will be judged and executed with little a defense to my name. A waste to have spent time on my wounds in that case."

"I would merely speak the truth. I cannot speak to their actions, though I'd be owed having mine opinion help dictate them. As I said, I wish to talk. Thou art capable of determining how the future shall play out."

"Lucky me." Edwin pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Fine. Have your talk. What is it you want?"

"Why me?" Her question elicited a blank look that turned to irritation. "What purpose was there to sabotage my travels?"

"You are Wychlaran and I Red Wizard. Wherever we are is merely a backdrop to the enmity between us." He gave her a withering look and raised his chin. "That nest of rats you call sisterhood would do well to be culled."

Dynaheir met his gaze and moved so that they were nearly nose to nose. "Do not lie to me, wizard!" She resisted the urge to grab his neck and throttle the answers out of him. Controlling her anger, she leaned away. "There is more to thy failed scheme than that. Were we squabbling over an age old hostility, one of us would not be here right now. One of us would be slain instead of wasting time on taking a captive."

Edwin grimaced. "Perhaps that is the case. (She talks as if a duel between us isn't already a foregone conclusion in my favor.)" He sighed. "It is a matter of information, as I told you back in that pit. Is it not strange a witch is so far from Rashemen?"

"As strange as a Red Wizard subjecting himself to cultures beneath Thay?"

"Bah. Not nearly. There is sense in our dealings outside Thayan soil. (It is just unfortunate that I am a part of them.) We don't wrap ourselves up in barbarity and stay put as the Rashemi do."

"Information then?" Dynaheir clicked her tongue. "Thou willst get nothing from mine lips."

"As you will find the same with me. If that much is agreed, I believe this pointless chat of ours is over." Edwin turned to roll over and go back to sleep, but Dynaheir pulled him back toward her.

"Thou may keep quiet on thy motives, but that only makes it much more imperative that I mistrust thee. I presume that Minsc and I shall be travelling with this group for some time. Whatever thy quarrel with me is, drop it. If there truly is a shred of honor within thee, recognize it was I that spared thee. We need not hound one another's trail."

Edwin narrowed his eyes and plucked her hand from his shoulder. "And what of your motives, witch? You hide behind a curtain as much as I. Whatever, find solace in surrounding yourself with a blind boy and his babysitters. I speak no more, away with you and let me sleep! Do what you must when I awake."

Dynaheir retreated back to her spot by the fire. It was no coincidence they had crossed paths. She didn't dare think his kin sent him this far merely out of furthering an age old hatred; that was too spiteful, even for them. Much as her sisters, it was information they wanted. Edwin would get nothing from her, his scheming be damned, but she wondered what he kept locked away within his mind.

She shook her head. All of this to chase after prophecies.

* * *

"What reason do you have for sullying my shadow?" He hardly registered her, only giving her a brief look over his shoulder as he kept walking.

Imoen jumped at the man's sudden vitriol. "You sound funny. Your accent's much different than everybody else's... although, come to think of it, none of us sound the same really."

"(Wonderful. I owe this unwelcome annoyance to linguistic curiosity. No doubt a subject way above her intellectual means.)"

"Sheesh, you're awful friendly, aren'tcha? You'd think after Dynaheir letting you off easy you'd be a bit nicer, Mr. Red Man."

"Do not address me by that imbecilic title. You will call me Edwin Odesseiron, though perhaps Edwin is a simpler verbal hurdle for you."

"Well then, Edwin, care to explain the beef between you and her?"

He heaved a sigh. "Did you not hear her when she addressed us all this morning?"

"I did. Just thought it'd be better to hear your end of it too."

"There is little from my end I wish to share with you. I agreed to her terms, did I not? (The very same that hawk of a woman in your group delighted in hashing out.) We are rivals and I was unfortunate enough to be a step behind. I've given my word to shed hostilities and serve penance by aiding your group."

"Sure sounds a lot better than being eaten by gnolls, I'd say." Imoen frowned and dashed the thought; that was an image she didn't quite want stuck in her head. "Just think, once we root out the rest of this iron problem you're free to go."

"Yes, how exciting. Pray the mastermind behind it is duller than you and your companions so that my atonement is swift." Edwin picked up his pace to move away from her.

Imoen let him be, moving to walk beside Zanven. "Heya."

"I told you he wouldn't want to talk to you," Zanven said.

"And how were you so certain of that, huh?"

"Because you're Imoen. If that isn't a big enough reason to avoid you then... ow! Let go of my ear!"

"Say you're sorry and Imoen's the best and you're full of cow dung!"

"I'm sorry! You're the best, I'm dumb, you're better than me, blah blah blah!"

Imoen released him, grinning ear to ear. "One of these days I won't need to coerce that outta ya and you'll say it right and true, all polite-like."

Zanven mumbled something unpleasant, rubbing his ear. "I just figured he wouldn't want to talk to you, or anybody really. He doesn't seem like kindness is important to him."

"Fair enough. Considering his options, you'd think he'd be a bit happier. Death by gnoll if she didn't help him, thrown in jail if we bring it up with the Fist, or doing the Coast a favor. Seems an easy choice to me because death and jail aren't any fun."

"Just leave him be. One perpetually angry man is already a handful with Tiax."

"Two if you include yourself." Imoen chuckled at his groan. "I'm sure he'll come around and be a bit more talkative later. All this walking gets boring without some chatter. Besides, he can't resist my charms for too long. I'm far too lovable and adorable for him to ignore forever."

"And yet I've had no troubles ignoring you for years now." Zanven was quick to guard his ear this time. "In what world do you think he'd like you, Imoen?"

Imoen laughed. "I'm sure there's one out there. And maybe there's a whole bunch of others too where we can fly. Or walk upside-down! Or ride unicorns and-and-and—"

"You are completely addled, Imoen."

* * *

They had stopped in Nashkel only long enough for Brother Nalin to evaluate and tend to Dynaheir and Edwin. The events at the carnival had seen to it their stay at Nashkel was merely in passing; the less attention brought to them the better, Jaheira had explained. She had also been keen on stressing that Zanven and Imoen were not to stray this time.

When Beregost greeted them, Zanven was overjoyed at the idea of not having to hustle from one spot to the next. They would have real beds and real food. How long, he could only guess—Khalid and Jaheira, intent on rooting out Nashkel's link to the Coast's banditry, spent their time combing the town for leads—so he would enjoy a sedentary life again while he could.

"And this is where Tiax started a bar fight and has been following us since," Imoen said. "Shame he's stuck around. Wouldn't if it weren't for his crush on Zanven."

"Imoen!" Heat surged to Zanven's cheeks. Perish the thought—violently with a sword. "I'll admit... he's not quite there, but he has helped us in spite of it."

"Tiax is...odd, to say the least," Dynaheir said. "His company amongst you did give me pause." Minsc mirrored her thought with a grumble.

"Thankfully he's someone else's burden right now. I bet Khalid already had to stop Jaheira from wringing his neck a thousand times now," Imoen said. "No way no how there's anything smart in that head of his."

"Let us not dwell on that despicable little creature's history with your group." Edwin stomped past them and opened the inn door. "That gnome is a nuisance, though only slightly more than present company. I tire of playing babysitter and would like to go about collecting the tools of my trade."

"Hey now," Imoen said, "you take that back!"

"If anything, it's the other way around. We're watching over you. You're the one who could have been left to the gnolls," Zanven said, joining in the testy air.

"Unlike you, I am not blind. (Nor stupid.) I can read between the lines as to why your caretakers dumped you two on me and the witch," Edwin said. "While they are flitting about town on whatever mission they've sworn themselves to, we are left to make sure nothing happens to you. (I cannot discern the importance of such a lowly task, if there's any to it.)

Energy itched within Zanven's clenched fist. "They are not my caretakers! You'd do well to recognize the kindness undeservedly afforded to you."

"Or what... mageling? (He glows?)" Edwin asked, a hint of curiosity to his abuse. "You insult me by leaving your threat unfinished, or worse, empty."

Zanven frowned. His hand felt ready to burst. Laughter rang throughout the inn, drawing his attention to the crowd. He remembered Jaheira warning against making a scene. Her words be damned! He didn't need to suffer this man's insults. His fingers twitched, eager to release the spell coursing through them.

Dynaheir laid a hand on Zanven's shoulder and gently pulled him back. At her touch his magic winked out. "Rising to his bait only gives us the misfortune of hearing his voice further. As for thou, cease thy prattle, Edwin. Thou art mistaken to think I shall accept thy presence any longer than necessary. Crawl away to a room and leave us be."

"You force servitude upon me and bar me from seeking out spell components?" Edwin asked. "I can hardly be of any use as a wizard should be in this silly penance you ask of me. Perhaps you are afraid of me breaking my word and testing the strength of your witchery?"

Dynaheir let out a breath, much like an irritated mother. "I do not fear thee. Our ears deserve better than to suffer under thy words. Minsc, help Edwin to a room and watch after him. Write a list of what thou need, wizard, and I shall see to it that it might find its way unto thy hands."

Minsc took hold of a sputtering Edwin. "Come, you'll not bother Minsc's friend anymore. Boo says you'd do well to learn some manners."

"Ha, look at him," Imoen said. "I think he's redder in the face than you've ever been, Zanven. Upset the both of us, didn't he?"

"I, uh... yes," Zanven said. He felt sheepish for the bout of anger. It was unlike him to rise to such obvious bait. "You are certain it is not better for the Fist to take hold of him?"

"He serves a purpose in spite of his attitude... much like thy gnome, I imagine," Dynaheir said. The trio found a table and sat down. "Ignoring him is for the best. I too plan on fetching things I need if I am to be any help to you. I would not presume that you would like to remain here. You are welcome to join me."

Imoen thumped the table. "Shopping, huh? And you said you're looking for magic? That's the fun kind!"

Zanven shared her excitement, though had the decency to temper it. "Count us in."

* * *

Dynaheir led them through Beregost's marketplace, hopping from stall to stall. For a magical shopping trip, it seemed rather mundane. Most of what she had purchased thus far, Zanven wagered, wasn't even magical. It seemed suspect spells consisted of flowers and leaves; in particular, the trail rations had let him down. Sure, they staved of starvation, but they weren't magic. Imoen had no problem 'ooing' and 'aaing' over everything though, especially when they came upon the stall selling jewelry.

"Ah, I do believe this is it. I was afraid I would not find it again," Dynaheir said. "This way, you two, into this shop."

"Again?" Imoen asked.

"Minsc and I passed through here once before, on our way south," Dynaheir said. She reached out and blocked Zanven's way. "Sorry, but do be careful here. This building is rather cramped. Tables and shelves are everywhere." She inspected everything and offered up an explanation for each component; nothing was without purpose, no matter its role in the spell. Joy danced in her words, and it was clear her knowledge spawned from passion rather than arrogance.

"There's a whole bunch of animal parts all laid out over here, gross! A bunch of jars too. What's bat guano?" Imoen asked.

Zanven made a face. "It's, uh, bat—"

"Poop," Peri chimed in, giggling.

"You let me touch it!" Imoen laughed along with Peri. Zanven shoved her away when she wiped her hand against his sleeve. "Funny how this all works. You throw out some dust and say a few words and poof!"

"There is a little more to it than just that," Dynaheir said, a respectful air to her words. "They are tools to access the gift of the Hidden One. Thy mind is just as important as the material aspects of spellcraft."

"Quit your fantasies now, Imoen. You don't have the patience for scrolls and spellbooks," Zanven said.

Imoen blew a raspberry at him. "Some of us don't get to have magic the easy way. Hardly fair it's in your blood and not mine!"

"Thou art blessed with sorcery? I had my suspicions, though it is rude to pry." Polite as Dynaheir was, Zanven found himself suddenly interested in toying with the materials on the table. "Thou hast a familiar quite different from others and there are certain qualities I have noticed." Peri posed at the compliment, causing Zanven to bat away his outstretched wings.

"Kinda hard to not notice when he turns into a candle," Imoen said. "Angelboy's a funny one. Magic's been cropping up for him all over the place recently. Good thing too or that lady woulda had him dead. Burnt her right up and even fixed his broken arm. Healed up good as new."

Dynaheir let out a 'hmm', listening in earnest. Zanven expected her to grab at his arm to inspect it from her interest. "That is peculiar... who was this lady?"

"Don't really know. A stranger tried to kil—hey, stop it, Zanven! Quit elbowing me!"

"A bounty seeker?" Dynaheir asked. "This seems more troubling than thou first let on. Thou mentioned two before, no?"

"There have... been a few," Zanven conceded.

"A few?" Imoen asked. "Two in Nashkel, one at the Friendly Arm Inn, and then there was—where are you going?"

"I... I'm stepping out a moment. Just outside, I won't be far." Zanven spat the words out, fighting the lump in his throat. He bumped into a table on his way out, leaving materials knocked aside in his wake. "Just a breath of air."

He brushed up against the door, all but falling through it as he exited the shop.

* * *

Claws tapped at his head and he ignored it. The tapping turned into scratching. When that too provoked no response, the dragon shifted his weight and flicked his tail in front of Zanven's face. Irritation welled inside of him. When he heard Peri take in a deep breath, he snaked a hand around the dragon's snout.

"Don't you dare!" He gave a squeeze before letting go.

"Something is wrong. You aren't happy." Peri gave a low whine, nuzzling Zanven's neck. "Dynaheir is nice. You do not like her?"

"I just didn't want to stay in there, that is all." His words came out in a jumble. "It was small, hardly any room to move. Stuffy too."

Peri hmmed, unusually scrutinizing coming from him. Zanven waved his hand in dismissal and started back toward the noise of the marketplace. Peri went rigid. "Wait! We have to stay here. Where are you going?"

"I'm just walking."

He wasn't going far, just like he said. Let Imoen run her mouth. They didn't need him there for that. Let her be the one to brief Dynaheir on why they were running from gods know how many killers.

A pang of guilt struck him. He had been as excited as Imoen to stroll around town and here he was fleeing with hardly a word for his absence. She had held his interest when she spoke, as if she were a monk. She was the first person outside of Candlekeep he found he could really converse with about the arcane, and although it felt much like scrutiny, her curiosity signaled she might know something of himself he didn't.

Just like...

Zanven steeled himself with a frown and walked faster. He made out a tune floating through the air. "You hear that? Let's go find where it's coming from." Music would calm him down.

"I don't know... Shouldn't we turn back now? They'll worry and-and it might not be safe!"

Zanven kept moving in spite of his familiar's protests. The music led him into a building, another inn he guessed. The smell of food drifted throughout the room and the bustle reminded him of Feldepost's. Something was different though. People talked nervously and quite a few were quick to shove their way past him out the door. The musician kept up a light melody; thank goodness it wasn't a wasted trip.

He moved closer to the music, humming along with it. Peri snapped him back to attention with a screech that frightened him half to death. "That's a body!" Peri hopped off of his shoulder, wings beating.

With all the grace of a spooked horse, Zanven tumbled over the heavy lump on the ground. Arms flailing, his staff clattered to the floor and he fell onto someone. He tried to regain his balance and furthered the awkward incident by grabbing a fistful of hair. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to! This wasn't—" He wheezed as a hand tightened around his neck.

"Let. Go. Of. Me." It was a woman, and anger resided in every syllable. A blade poked at his stomach.

Zanven untangled his fingers, unsure whether embarrassment or her grip suffocated him more. "I... really... sorry!"

"I made short work of your dwarf-friend you're trying to avenge." Her blade bit through his robe. "I can do the same for you."

A man yelled out to them. "You better not! One body's enough on my floor. You take this one outside. You didn't even clean up that mess you left behind!"

"He tried killing me first!" she spat back. "I've nothing to do with him. As for yo—oh hells." Her voice filled with discomfort. Her blade eased away and tentatively lifted up the cloth around Zanven's eyes. She released him and he gulped in air.

"Is everything alright?" a young man asked, hurried footsteps marking his appearance.

"Yeah, just fine. I, uh, mistook him for the world's worst assassin. Thought he was the dwarf's partner."

Zanven couldn't help but let a laugh escape him. The sheer irony of it: almost killed because someone thought _he _was an assassin!

The man retrieved his staff and handed it to him. "Hey, uh, I think we owe you one for that. Here, I'll pull over a chair."

"Yeah, sorry about that," the woman said.

* * *

"Yup, straight out of Berdusk's college, I am!"

"Wow," Zanven said. "I would have never thought there'd be schools for the arts." Perhaps he paid too little attention talents beyond his grasp. For wizardry sure, but for music?

"He's not quite the best poet though. Definitely more of an _instrument_ man."

"Ah, heh, yeah..." Zanven noted the man's pause, a surge coming to his own cheeks when he caught her meaning. "Used to travel wherever the Dale Wind carried me, but greater things are ahead now."

The woman snorted. "Embellishment as always. Can't say I'm as interesting as him. A book-learned barbarian just trying to find her way through the Heartlands."

"Huh?"

"I fight things. Tend to kill them more often than not. It's a bit of a joke." She sighed. "Thayvians..."

"There is truth to it though. You can recite that combat manual blind. Front to back, back to front, not a word missed! I, ah, hmm..." Zanven smiled and indicated he took no offense. "How about you?"

"Me?" Zanven hesitated. What could he say? He had none of their experience. "I'm nothing like you guys really. I've an aptitude for magic and used to waste away living in a library. Tore through a lot of books thanks to this guy." He patted Peri and the familiar cooed, scrabbling to sit on the table.

"You too, huh? Life didn't see fit to keep me trapped there." There was an edge to her voice that resonated with Zanven.

"Birds of a feather," the man said with cheer. "Pardon me for saying it, but you're a strange sort. Blind, magical, and travelling with a fearsome dragon! That'd make quite the tale, with artistic license of course."

"I don't know. I couldn't stand out in a tale. Who'd even be interested in it?"

"I'd make it a fiction for the ages, a net fit to capture fans everywhere!"

The woman groaned. "His head's spinning already. It's bad enough he tries to rope me into his tales. Hardly any truth to them, not a one." She shared a kiss with him. "They're getting better though."

"Thank you so very much for your most gracious compliment."

* * *

For once Zanven welcomed Tiax's headache-inducing voice. It sure beat enduring Imoen's lecturing. She punched and pinched his arm bruised for his disappearance act; that was only the beginning. The rest of the day she bogged him down with a scolding. Already she had made him apologize to Dynaheir half a dozen times and demanded another half-dozen for making her worry. Had she not threatened to tell Jaheira, he would have ignored her and let her anger fizzle out.

"It is him," Tiax shrieked, provoking a reprimand from Jaheira to quiet down. He beat at the table the group sat at, madder than usual. "Cyric has given Tiax revenge on a silver platter—no, gold! Gold only fit for Tiax!"

"I am afraid I do not understand," Dynaheir said, obvious that she struggled to keep her voice diplomatic.

"Neither does Minsc. What madness do you ramble on about now, gnome?"

"What the fool is trying to say is," Jaheira said, "is our efforts have bore fruit. We have produced a lead to the Sword Coast's problems, however shaky it stands."

"You would put stock into this imbecile's words?" Edwin asked.

"Your insults are petty, slave! Tiax has not forgotten the underhanded affront to his ascension! He cares not for aiding in the region's troubles, but Cyric demands a culling of his followers again. Any bandits in Tiax's way shall merely net him more favor."

Jaheira was quick to speak before Edwin had a chance to argue. "Rumors speak of a mad man assailing Beregost, and not just the one in our company. They seemed nothing more than stories at first, but there must be truth to what the townsfolk say to create such fear."

"So what are we dealing with this time?" Imoen asked. "Kobolds, check. Gnolls, check. Assassins, check." Zanven stomped his foot; she said that on purpose! Imoen clicked her tongue and continued. "What's the new notch on our bad guy offin' belt?"

Jaheira sighed. "These stories are backed by the word of Beregost's governor. He spoke of citizens going missing. Some bodies have shown up, maimed beyond recognition. Unfortunately, we wade through clouded details much the same as with Nashkel. Nobody is certain as to why people are disappearing from town."

"Tiax knows. Oh yes, Tiax definitely knows." He cackled. "We deal with the one who turned his back on Tiax to curry favor with common thieves! I have cracked Mulahey's skull already, I shall tear yours asunder too, Bassilus!"

"Who is Bassilus?" Zanven asked

"T-Tiax is very adamant that the source of Beregost's m-murders lies in his old companion," Khalid said, taking over for his wife when she resorted to praying for patience.

"Bassilus is a... he is a..." Tiax's venom stalled. He pounded the table. "He is a rat deserving extermination! He shall be given the mercy of a grave so that Tiax can dance upon it."

"Amongst the rumors are strange sightings on the outskirts of t-town," Khalid said. "People say they've seen shambling b-bodies when the sun goes down."

"Shoddy work one can expect from a shoddy follower. He knows nothing of truly manifesting the Word of Cyric. Even after all Tiax taught him!" Tiax sounded more disappointed than angry. "His zombies are shameful minions, nothing at all like Tiax's ghoul."

A murmur went through the group. Jaheira commanded a hush. "If that is the case, then there is no doubt we will act upon this abomination. We've only this small connection to the bandits plaguing the roads, as well as to Mulahey's operations in Nashkel. We have not been given many strings to pull out so we shall tug at this one and see how much it unravels."

"When Tiax demands it, you will stay your hand. It shall be only his that puts down that wayward dog!"

* * *

A rap at the door caused Zanven to tense. He moved his blanket aside and sat up, wondering if Imoen had heard it too. Her snoring answered that question. "Imoen," he whispered. "Imoen, get up!" He nudged Peri awake, his heart thumping.

There was only one way in and out of their room. If it was another assassin they would have to fight past the door. Even doing so, they were trapped. An ambush had to lie on the other side. Another knock, harder this time, jolted him up from the bed with Peri in hand.

A voice accompanied the knocking. "Zanven, if thou art still awake, I would wish to talk."

Zanven let out a breath. He could pretend he was still asleep and let her walk away. Maybe she would forget whatever it was that was on her mind. He shook his head, moving toward the door when he heard her footsteps leaving.

He cracked open the door and peeked his head out. "Dynaheir?"

"Ah, thou art awake after all." She walked back toward his room. "As I said, I wish to talk. I apologize for the hour I disturb thee in, but I feel this chat is of some importance. We seem to have... gotten off on the wrong foot, and if allowed I would like to correct that."

Guilt flooded back to him at her sincerity. He eased himself out of his room, closing the door behind him. He shifted his weight, Peri hardly awake in the crook of his arm. "Fair enough."

"Come then, if thou wouldst?" Dynaheir reached out, tentatively taking his hand. Zanven resisted the urge to pull his hand back and let her guide him downstairs. The inn at this hour was far less exciting than its usual liveliness. As they took a seat nestled away from what few patrons still around, silence hung between them.

Dynaheir drummed her fingers against the table, fueling the butterflies in his stomach. She sighed. "Let us to it then. I'd do thee an injustice by wasting thy time this late."

"To what exactly?"

"Thou needst not worry so much. Thou art dancing in thy skin, Zanven."

"I... I am not. I am fine." He stopped himself from bringing a hand to his face. Much too quick to speak, much too defensive. Gods, why was he so nervous around her?

"I am thy friend. I owe thee mine life." She paused, her words slowing. "If I've offended thee in some way..."

"No! No, you haven't." He scratched his cheek. There was no use stalling any longer. "You want to ask about me, about everything?"

"Aye. Thou hast not been very forthcoming, though it is understandable... I must admit, I very nearly asked Khalid and Jaheira about thee. As with Minsc, I am here to help. I seek merely to know how I can."

Zanven slumped forward, leaning his elbows on the table. "Take me back to Candlekeep."

"Pardon? Thou speaketh too soft."

He jumped, the thought unintentionally vocalized. "I am hunted and I don't know why."

"Thou hast said as much. Tis an unfortunate circumstance hanging over thee and despicable others seek to kill for gain."

"Little more than a tenday ago I was in Candlekeep until my foster father urged me to leave with him. He's... dead now." Dynaheir murmured to herself. "That was the first. They took him instead of me. We were to journey to the Friendly Arm Inn to meet his friends, Khalid and Jaheira. Another assassin tried to kill me hardly after I set foot through the inn's gate. Then again in Nashkel, the lady Imoen mentioned and another an entertainer at the town's carnival."

"By the Three, art thou cursed... oh, I am sorry."

Zanven gave her a sad smile. It felt liberating to no longer avoid dancing around the issue with her "Certainly feels like it. There is little to glean from it outside of someone wants me dead."

"For now. The reasons are hidden, but that does not mean they do not exist to be uncovered."

He cradled his head in his hands. That was that then. She knew now. She had been with them for only days and now she was briefed as to why they traveled the way they did, with all the secrecy and alertness; that wasn't even including trying to solve the Coast's banditry.

"Candlekeep thou said?" Zanven brought his head up at her question. "Let us shy away from what we cannot control. Tell me of thyself."

"I called it home until recently. Until this mess... I spent my time learning under the monks and studying magic. That really is all." Apparently enough to warrant a bounty.

"The finest of places to learn. Even from Rashemen in the East we know of Candlekeep. Would that I could, I would visit its halls. How was it that it became thy home? It is not notable for its youth."

"I grew up there, orphaned as a child. I've known only the monks, my father, and Imoen as family. What of you? What is your story?"

Dynaheir chuckled, odd to hear her demeanor fade away; she had been pleasant enough yet serious, much like a more tolerable Jaheira. "I am Rashemi and have traveled with Minsc, accompanying him on his dajemma. It is a rite of passage in our land, if he has not explained it himself. It is our way of experiencing Faerun to bring knowledge outside our country back home."

"And you are a witch?" The word felt strange coming from his lips. Edwin was quick to brand her with it as an insult, yet Minsc used it in adoration. "That... is a bad thing, isn't it?"

"If one goes by fairy tales, then that might be the case. Don't make that face, I've taken no insult. It is merely what we call ourselves, those of us that take spell-casting up as a profession, and it is an important one at that. We are the caretakers of Rashemen, of land and people."

"No wonder you seemed like an herbalist when we were at the marketplace."

"Our ways in magic do call for a more unorthodox understanding of things than others. The Hidden One spins the Weave, but what use is it without Bhalla and Mielikki's contributions?"

Zanven furrowed his brow. "I know of Mielikki, but the others?" He wouldn't dare call himself an expert on it (well, perhaps to Imoen,) but mythology fascinated him.

"Bhalla to us is Chauntea outside of Rashemen and to you the Hidden One is known as Mystra. Certainly a deity you must feel kindred to."

"I owe my being to her, I suppose. Although I profess to following Oghma. Candlekeep and all so it's not much of a stretch."

Dynaheir yawned, her chair scratching against the floor as she stood. "I think it is time to welcome sleep. I am thankful thou allowed mine request. Were it not so late, I feel we could speak of gods and magic until time ran out of hours to count. Trust is earned, but know that thou hast mine."

Zanven followed her upstairs and they bid each other good night. He crept back into bed, his nerves a calmer beast than before. He turned to his side when he heard a yawn from the other side of the room.

"See? Toldja being nice to her wouldn't hurt. Bet she didn't even bite."

* * *

Author's Notes: "And Mr. Anchev, tear down this fourth wall!" - Reagan probably, 1368 DR. I'm finding these scenes quite entertaining to whip up and can only hope they bring as much joy when read as they do while written! One of these days, Karlat, you might win, and when that happens, reloads will steal your victory.

I gotta throw a thanks ValidDreams' way. The joke of bat guano being someone's bane was one I couldn't pass up after seeing her Edwin's use of it, though it causes a bit less chaos here haha I've always found spell components kind of a weird concept, but I think reading other fics around here warmed me up to trying to explore it. Definitely makes magic more of a 'science'.

Man, I can't help but admire the rest of you guys. I always feel like my chapters come out at such a slower pace in comparison (though I always keep chugging, the literary tank engine I try to be.) Thank y'all for the reviews and views. I shall continue to do my part and endeavor to make myself worthy of them!


	11. Chapter 11

Imoen leaned over, bracing against a boulder as she peaked down the hill. Her eyes flicked to Zanven and then back to the path below her. Oh boy, wasn't it steep. She sucked in a breath and blew strands of hair out of her face. If it weren't for the danger, she'd find the thought of him tumbling head over heels funny; a minor fall, sure, but not tripping down a hillside.

"Is this really where you think your friend Basil is?"

"We do not hunt an herb!" Tiax stomped over to her as she grinned. "Bassilus is a weed in Cyric's garden and Tiax shall pluck him." He kicked up rocks in his wake, starting down the hill one angry footfall after another.

She hopped after him, shooting glances over her shoulder toward the others. Minsc took care in making sure his witch descended safely down the hill. Khalid hovered near Zanven while Jaheira strayed behind, eyes vigilant in surveying the terrain. Edwin stayed away from them all a healthy distance.

"Hey, not so fast now!" Imoen called out. "We ain't sneaking if we sound like a couple of hill giants running down the mountain!"

She wasn't going to let Tiax ruin this for her. It had taken her the better part of the day to convince Jaheira to let her help scout ahead. She didn't know the wilderness but one thing she did know was sneaking; supposedly Tiax did too.

"Retribution need not skulk like a peasant." His shrill voice threatened to let everything from Baldur's Gate to Amn know he was there until he quieted down. He stopped moving so fast, allowing her to catch up. "But perhaps you are right, girl. Follow Tiax's lead and your long limbs won't betray us."

Imoen seethed, wanting to reach down and wring his scrawny neck. She struggled to compose herself. "Maybe we'd have a better chance at finding him before he finds us if you'd just keep quiet. If Bassilus even exists. You don't even know it's him, do you?"

Tiax whirled on her, a finger pointed at her. "He is real!" His hand curled into a fist and pounded his hip. "It is him and his creations that toy with the peasants."

"How do you know that for sure?" Leave it to him to see only what he wanted to. Beregost shared Nashkel's ever shifting rumor mill, and Tiax used it to craft up his vengeance. Begrudgingly, she had to give him some credit if he managed to convince Jaheira that there was a shred of truth to his ramblings.

"Because Tiax remembers his face, how he smiled over Tiax's broken body!" The gnome's arms thrashed in the air. "This child, this fool, this-this traitor! Tiax made him! He wiped clean the misguided beliefs of heresy and ushered in Cyric's embrace. He was a prodigy, Tiax's right hand to bring about his ascension, and he repays Tiax with betrayal!"

Imoen raised an eyebrow. Tiax's face flushed, pinched in anger. Peculiar that his eyes watered.

"What did Tranzig offer that Tiax could not? Bandits cannot offer the wealth of world conquest! They cannot offer the glory of divine servitude!" Tiax was quick to swipe at his face. He no longer looked at Imoen as he spoke. "Tiax knows he is here, and he will root him out."

"Sheesh, fine, he's real." Tiax's outburst died down as they crept across the rough terrain. Curiosity gnawed at Imoen's mind, and though she knew she would regret making conversation, she wanted to fill in the void. "What was he to ya, this Bassilus fella? Had to've been promised something good to dump ya."

Her wince betrayed her lie. There were millions of reasons, all justified, to dump Tiax alongside the road; it'd hardly take something good to do it. That came with the territory of being an unrepentant madman bent on spewing crazy.

"Must Tiax repeat himself at every turn? Bassilus is nothing! He is a heap of manure sculpted into a man."

"I dunno, seems a little too personal to me. He did leave you for dead after all. He's gotta be important enough if he pulls you from your oh so glorious ascension."

"Important? Nonsense! He's an inconvenience Tiax must correct... and to think, Tiax promised to show him Waterdeep to properly ordain him on Cyric's Mountain." Tiax shook his head, anger shifting into disappointment.

"Waterdeep, huh? Remember a traveler back home from there. A windbag that guy, made sure to let everybody know how much better it was than Baldur's Gate." Imoen smiled. He never did find where his expensive jewelry vanished off to before leaving Candlekeep. "Is that why you traveled together?"

Tiax's face twitched, seemingly foreshadowing an outburst that never came; instead misery settled in. "The boy was a lost lamb, driven away by the righteous Banedeath into Tiax's arms. A gift from Cyric, Tiax thought... ha, a gift!" Tiax's laughter was rife with contempt. "We did travel, where we met the orc-mutt. Mulahey and Tranzig poisoned the mind of Tiax's protégé!"

Tiax's mood swings acted up far more than usual. For all the hate he spewed, something bubbled underneath; something most unlike the Tiax she was unfortunate to know. "You liked him, didn'tcha?" Imoen blurted out. He shot her a glare.

Struck gold! She grinned ear to ear at her victory; now it was a matter of pressing the grump for more of the story.

"Don't insult Tiax with such stupidity! He should slap you silly for such insolent babble." He frowned and gave her the cold shoulder.

The slope took them down a ways before leveling off at an outcropping of rocks. She opened her mouth, preparing to dig deeper into Tiax's past, but a hiss from the gnome interrupted her thoughts. He was sputtering, unable to form words. "What? What is it? You keep on pointing but it's doing me no good!"

Tiax grabbed her and forced her to look where he pointed. Further below them figures stood out amongst the trees, engaged in conversation. She recognized a few of them, knowing enough to point out hobgoblins when she saw them; wolves stood by, nasty looking beasts. A man waved his arms as he spoke. There were others that shambled about, paid no mind by the speakers.

Glee rolled off of Tiax when he composed himself. "You will learn to never doubt Tiax. He is always right. It is time he reclaims his gift!"

* * *

"Crush wants more!"

"I have given you what you wanted now leave me and my family be!"

A growl pierced the conversation, sending a shiver through Imoen's spine. Those didn't look like any wolves she'd ever seen, all big, mean, and grotesque. She breathed slow, steeling herself, and moved closer along the tree line.

"This is not worth worg spit!" Coins clanked against the ground as the hobgoblin huffed. "You keep for yourself, priest! Hand it over."

The man sighed; he didn't seem much older than herself. "Peasants and farmers are not rich and merchants are smart enough to keep away." He turned from the hobgoblins and spoke to the figure standing next to him, a ragged man with a hunch. "Tell them, brother Thurm! Tell them I speak the truth. You would know, wouldn't you?"

A sickly groan answered him in reply. Imoen brought a hand to her mouth, realizing the rumors were true.

"Oh Thurm, no need to be shy now! You ripped that old geezer apart and we searched every bit of him for only a few coins. A small price to pay to join our family, I'd say."

"No more games! I kill you and just take what you hide. Nobody disobeys Chill!"

The man laughed at the threat, a giggle that built up into a wild fit of laughter. "I did not recognize you at first, but it is you, cousin Zargal! Let us make up for lost time."

The masses of bodies shambling about turned and swarmed around him. Imoen prayed they wouldn't discover her as the two groups fought one another. The wolves tore through the zombies, teeth and claws rending rotted flesh. The man didn't seem to mind his minions torn apart in front of him as he chanted. Energy flickered in his palms and he chucked them at his foes, laughing with every pitch. The beasts fell to the mass of bodies and spells, and with them out of the way he dealt with the hobgoblins. His hammer was more than enough to bat away blades and smash heads.

Stupid monsters, picking a fight with some unhinged, zombie-raising looney. Sure, hobgoblins weren't known for being smart, but come on! The guy was clearly crazy and had his own personal army of the undead.

Imoen knew better than to deal with that. She turned away, but found resistance. A hand wrapped around leg, using her as a balance to right itself, and it began pulling her toward the battle. She screamed in spite of herself and thrashed, toppling over with the zombie.

"I didn't know we had a sister, Thurm." Finished with the ambush, he walked over toward her.

"Shit, shit," Imoen said, rolling around with the corpse grappling her. "Get off'a me!" She shoved the zombie away and skittered up against a tree, wide eyes watching the priest staring at her. He cocked his head, as if a child unsure of what to make of a new toy.

"Then again, our family is so large. I'm sorry I've forgotten you." His fingers twitched across the hammer he held. "Nobody is ever sorry for me though. I'm always forgotten. Is Bassilus really that hard a name to remember?" Sorrow tugged at his lips; for all his crazy he looked genuinely sad.

"No, of course not!" Imoen raised her hands up, palms out in a calming gesture. She scanned the hillside where she came from, noting her companions making haste. "I did forget you, but I didn't mean it. Really! I just, uh, wasn't... expecting to see so many of the family. A little surprised is all."

Her stomach wrapped itself up into a knot. What in the hells was he talking about? He couldn't honestly think any of these zombies were his real family, could he? She gulped back a scream as the crowd of walking corpses shambled closer to her. What was left of his fresh kills joined their ranks.

Bassilus eased his war hammer to the ground and pulled Imoen up. His fingers interlocked with hers and he swung their arms from side to side. "Wonderful! There's so much catching up to do, so much missed time to make up for. Praise the Black Ha"—he looked away, fear controlling his gaze—"ah, the Black Sun for granting me my family whole and well... Don't tell Cyric, I've changed, I promise!"

"Yeah, totally. Praise be." Imoen tried not to gag on the smell of death clinging to Bassilus. She wanted to wrench her hands away from his blood slicked fingers. She risked another peek at the group. _Stall more, just a little longer._ "So, uh, is everyone here? I don't see auntie around and you know how much I adore her."

He released her and looped an arm around her shoulder. Her skin crawled at his touch. "She's around here somewhere. Auntie!" At his shout a zombie shambled to attention, lurching under bits of plate mail. Its caved in face betrayed only remnants of its former gender. "Auntie Lamalha, come, look at your niece and nephew!"

"No, really that's fi—"

Bassilus shoved her into the zombie and waited, an expectant look on his face. Imoen patted the armored zombie in a quick half-hug, half-shoulder tap, eliciting a clap from the madman. "Oh it is so good to see us together again. I apologize for Auntie's... condition. We had a disagreement over Cyric's Word, and her temper always gets the better of her. I did what I had to you know. You can go back to your friends, Auntie." The woman shuffled away, stopping amongst three other standing corpses.

An iciness worked its way down Imoen's spine. One wrong move, one word the priest found disagreeable and she'd be no different than any of these abominations. She gave him a weak smile, looking around him in desperation. The others were closer now, close enough for her to hear her name yelled from their lips. To her horror, Tiax and his ghoul loped ahead.

"Traitor!"

She wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. Maybe if she thought hard enough she'd just wink out of existence. Anything to avoid Bassilus when that dolt eventually riled him up.

"You spineless backstabber! Treacherous maggot! Stand before Tiax and apologize before he carves out your heart!"

Confusion and anger danced across Bassilus' face. He snatched up Imoen and scrambled for his hammer. "T-Tiax? You were... I thought—"

"You thought the glory of Tiax could be buried by a half-baked scheme?" Tiax barked out a laugh as he charged toward him. He leaped from his steed and his ghoul tore into the crowd of zombies in a storm of limbs. The rest of the group caught up, spells and steel joining in with Korax's claws.

"I saw you myself. You were dead!"

Tiax held up a hand and Imoen felt a force that sent them reeling. Damn gnome, didn't he see her?

"Death is reserved for those beneath Tiax's stature!" He willed another blast, but Bassilus was ready this time. Muttering an incantation, the priest countered the spell away with a glittering shield. Tiax barreled forward with his club unperturbed.

"You died. I saw it! Tranzig promised me you were gone forever. He-he-he said you fell astray of the teachings. I did what was right!" Bassilus maneuvered around to parry Tiax's wild swings. "You are a false prophet, Tranzig told me so, and Cyric says to do away with the untruthful!"

Tiax skipped around his taller foe, pounding at any opening he could find—even if it meant trying to clobber through Imoen to get to Bassilus. "Hey, watch it!" Imoen yelled. "Let go of me will ya! Your sister can defend herself." Bassilus released her as he struggled to counter Tiax's blows with her in his way.

"Tiax is the only truth! You know this, mutton-headed fool!" Their weapons clashed and a crack pierced the air, electricity rippling from Bassilus' hammer to Tiax's arm. The gnome screeched in pain and rolled away, a thousand curses on his lips. Imoen took the opportunity to scurry away from the Cyricists. To the hells with them and their deranged god and stupid feud!

"No, father, Tranzig was right." Bassilus spared Imoen a glance before stomping toward Tiax. "You've come to tear me away from my new family, and already my sister flees because of your lies!" His voice cracked as he broke into another prayer. Red energy swirled around his weapon as he brought it down onto Tiax's leg with a crunch. He kicked Tiax. "You're supposed to be dead, gone, forgotten!"

Bassilus grabbed hold of Tiax's neck and lifted him up. The red hue coiled around his arms, licking at Tiax. The gnome flailed trying to escape. "It was Tiax who nurtured your faith! He who saved you and showed you Cyric's mercy, a rarity Tiax was tasked with bestowing."

"I had no choice!" Bassilus' magic halted and emotions twisted his face into a grimace. "I trust in Cyric, for He is merciful... but my home. My family and my god! Taken from me!" A sob wracked him and he threw Tiax to the ground. "They won't be stolen from me again!" The energy surged from his outstretched hand and enveloped Tiax.

Imoen tackled Bassilus before he could finish Tiax off. "Leave him be! None of these zombies are your family and most certainly not me!"

"You're wrong. Everybody is wrong! They are!" Bassilus wrenched Imoen off of him and whirled on her with his war hammer. She scrambled away from the wide swings and zombies closing in around her and Tiax. Her blade was out, shaking in her hand. _Gods, oh gods, he's going to kill me._

Metal screeched against one another as Minsc barreled through the undead, meeting Bassilus' hammer with his sword. Bassilus attacked in a frenzy, bashing away at Minsc with no finesse, and the larger warrior met his hammer every time. Electricity sprouted from each clash, leaving blackened marks along Minsc's arms. With a roar, Minsc shrugged off the hammer and delivered a punch to Bassilus' face. The priest fell back stunned and another disarmed him.

Bassilus clutched at his face and pointed at Minsc. "Fall!" Minsc cried out and tumbled to the ground with a heavy crash. "I won't let you take them from me!" His palms glowed again. He fell forward, reaching for Minsc.

Imoen dove to intercept him, her blade biting through his shoulder. The energy winked out as his arm dangled limp against her. Bassilus looked at her in shock. She struggled to pull her sword free for another strike. _Come on, come loose already! Come out! _

Minsc was back on his feet and jerked Imoen away. Another fist downed Bassilus and this time he crumpled to the ground. His minions fell too, whatever magic keeping them fighting dispersed. Catching her breath, Imoen looked from one Cyricist to another, both of them wounded heaps.

Boy was she tired of Cyric.

* * *

"Let Tiax have him! His life is forfeit!"

"No. The only life you shall have is your own, and perhaps not even that if you do not stay still! I have others to attend to. I'll not have you waste Silvanus' time."

Zanven shook his head listening to Jaheira scold Tiax as she set to fixing his wounds. "You really think he's sane enough to tell us anything about the bandits?"

"No."

"Then let Tiax show the traitor what it means to defy his ascension. Banditry is nothing compared to stalling divinity!"

"Also no." There was a thud and strangled cry. "He's not sane at all. He is all we have to go off of though, short of waylaying bandits along the Coast Way for information. As much as it would them good for me to crack their heads, I have not the patience."

Imoen plopped down next to Zanven, shoving into his shoulder. "Bet you'd make patience. You love hurting people... uh, well, I mean the bad guys obviously." Khalid laughed and even Jaheira made a noise suspiciously close to a chuckle.

Zanven opened his mouth to slip in a joke at Jaheira's expense, but thought better of it. She could just as easily make him practice fighting with her. His bruises were all the proof he needed to know Jaheira wouldn't have an issue finding what patience she needed to bring her staff to bear.

He nudged Imoen. "You're fine, right?"

"I... I don't know." Imoen's voice took on a strange pitch, causing him to worry. "I think one of 'em got me, bit me on my arm. I'm feeling kinda hungry too." She moaned again. "So hungry..."

"Im—" She leaned into him and bit his arm. He shoved her off with a squawk of surprise and she laughed. "What are you doing?"

"That's how zombies work, you know. You get bit and then you're one of 'em. Said so in a book I read. Pretty common knowledge."

Zanven frowned. "Oh? And what book was that?" You could threaten her life and she'd still refuse to crack open a book.

"Oh, you know, some survival guide or something."

He shook his head at her making light of the situation. She didn't share his concern over their close call with Gazib nor now with Bassilus' minions. All that stood between her sitting here next to him and death had been fortunate timing. Not even Tymora would allow her to continue gambling her safety like that without consequences.

"Aw come on. You keep on frowning and you're gonna get me mopey."

"Maybe you shouldn't go on ahead."

"No way! Sure, I could be all gross and zombified right now, but wasn't it exciting?" Sensing his discomfort, she prodded him in the ribs. "You don't give me enough credit if you think I'd let a bunch of walking dead bodies off me."

"This isn't a game, you know." Monsters and assassins had proven that thus far. "You could've died."

"Alright, _Jaheira._" Imoen laughed as he bristled. "I mean, of course zombies are dangero—"

"_Be serious for once!_"

A murmur went up from the others, curiosity tuning in to his outburst. He fought the urge to push Imoen away and hide until they set off again.

"I'm fine, you do know that right?" Irritation hung on her words. She rapped her knuckles against his forehead. "Worry wart."

Zanven slapped her hand away. "I have many things to worry about, if you haven't noticed." It was difficult enough worry about his own life, much less adding hers to the list. "If I don't then who will? Certainly not you!"

"Stop that!" She pinched his arm, an annoying habit whenever she was mad that continued past their youth. "You have a lot of nerve, mister, to say I don't worry! I just choose not to let it eat me up every minute of the day. And what of Peri? Jaheira? Khalid? Minsc and Dynaheir? They've only been with us for a little bit too."

Peri hopped into his lap, pawing at his chest. "I do worry."

"You could even make a case for Tiax... although that goblin only does so because you're his special minion."

Zanven flinched, his cheeks heating up. A lecture from Imoen of all people. He crossed his arms. "I only meant—"

"Look, you big sap, I know what you meant." The edge softened in Imoen's tone. "Everything's pretty crummy, but we're not dirt napping yet. You're like Jaheira, gotta get all fussy to show ya care."

"I am not."

"Maybe just a little bit, Master." Peri struggled with suppressing a laugh.

"Maybe it's fair to fuss when your sister shows a complete disregard for safety."

"It wasn't completely... I just was slow to the punch. I'll do better next time. Learn from your mistakes and what not. Helped prove you've got compassion in ya though."

There was little compassion in the jolt of electricity he willed to his hand, though it did nothing to her chipper attitude.

* * *

"This is what you've enslaved me for? To listen to bickering children and the interrogation of mad men?"

Minsc stiffened at her side. Dynaheir placed a hand on his arm, signaling for calm in the face of Edwin's complaining. "I feel thou speaketh that word loosely." If she was the master, she was quite lenient on discipline.

"(I am to do their bidding under threat of punishment and it is not slavery?) They seek to root out the banditry in this backwater region, do they not? What use are the words of another insane Cyricist?"

"In spite of his state of mind, the man is part of it. He is a stepping stone. Surely thou canst understand that?"

Edwin sucked in air through his teeth. "What I understand is I am shackled to a cause with no clear plan of success. This man hardly knows what is alive and dead." He turned to look at Bassilus, whom had Jaheira and Khalid huddled around him. "They seek to pry answers from a babbling monkey. A fool's errand."

"It is not a clear trail we walk. If that were the case, certainly the bandits would be no more, mopped up by the law."

"You are right about that." He turned back to her, a smile tugging at his lips. "Our trail is muddied, a curving, cluttered path."

Dynaheir narrowed her eyes. "What is thy meaning?"

Edwin eyed Minsc, a scrutinizing look Dynaheir did not like. "Send away your watch dog, if you would."

"I admit, of all the ways of attempting to lower mine guard I did not expect such bluntness. Tis almost refreshing coming from thee, Edwin."

That was enough to dash his smugness.

"Do not insult me by peddling this lie of caring about bandits. We walk different paths than these"—Edwin waved a hand dismissively—"simians. What? Do you fear treachery? Rest assured, if its spells you fear you've made sure of my impotency." He rested a hand on the spell components she had bought him. "I request a chat in private."

"I do not like your tone, wizard," Minsc said.

"And I yours. (Must her oaf always shout?)" Edwin sighed and threw down the sacks at his belt. Dynaheir tensed when he unsheathed his dagger, but that too fell to the ground. One by one he worked the rings adorning his fingers off and set them down. He took hold of his amulet and hesitated, leaving it around his neck. "It is merely a memento."

Dynaheir registered his pile. As much as it must have pained him, he was making an attempt to be candid. She muttered under her breath and brought a hand up, fingers tracing a shape in the air. A glow emanated from the pile and another from around Edwin's neck, though fainter.

"Your caution, while admirable, is grating."

She watched Edwin, trying to figure out his angle. "Minsc, thou may go for a moment. Do keep watch."

"But Dynaheir! He is evil. He means you harm!"

"It will be quick, Minsc. Thou may not trust Edwin, but trust me." Dynaheir motioned for him to move and the giant did, though not without glaring at Edwin as he trudged away.

"Tell me why you keep me around, unleashed but no less a lap dog."

"Thou knoweth of the penance owed to me."

"Yes, yes, an inconvenience that I deign to maintain. I could flee had I the true desire and you bumbling fools would be none the wiser."

"Tell me then, why hast thou not done so?"

His smug grin returned. "Curiosity. Peculiar for a dajemma to call you so far away from home. It's almost as if you seek something from this barbaric outland."

"Thou wish to rehash this? I seek knowledge. Far less peculiar than thy imaginations."

"I remain out of curiosity and you search of knowledge. (Of course the barbarian claws at anything to pull her culture from the dregs of civilization.) We remain in each other's presence for more than a show at atonement." Edwin rested his hands together in the folds of his robe; it was pedestrian in comparison to his old attire, not quite the same shade of red. "Tell me what it is you really look for." Had he his way, he would pull answers from her with just a glare.

"I can repeat myself if it is to thy liking. Anything learned abroad in service to Rashemen is a boon. It is all the knowledge I seek." Dynaheir found her hands hovering at her side, his gaze unrelenting.

Edwin smiled as if sensing her defensiveness. "Do not insult me with vague platitudes. Let us pull the curtain aside, if only a little bit. We are here for reasons important to our factions. Elaborate on this and I will be out of your hair."

"No. We are dallying, let us return to the road." Dynaheir's abrupt answer stole away his smile. She turned away from Edwin and rejoined Minsc's company, leaving the wizard fuming. A nagging voice whispered to her that she ought to have shared something, even a tiny bit of her mission, if only to get the Red Wizard to reciprocate. Then again, the idea of Edwin giving in return was hard to believe.

For all his anger, she had not lied. Knowledge was her goal. The intricacies of it were another story; one in which she was sure letting a Thayvian tamper with would hamper her cause.

* * *

The dream had came quickly. One moment Zanven's head hit the pillow, the next he was lucid. He was not within his room now, much less still in Beregost for all he knew. He couldn't shake the eerie feeling hanging over him.

Cramped. Suffocating. The air tasted stale yet produced a yearning. Intoxicating with every vile breath. His stomach roared.

Wherever he was, he was not alone. Ragged breathing came from nearby, occasionally interrupted by chatter. The voice talked to itself in a swarm of gibberish.

Zanven moved toward the voice, so close now it surrounded him. An aura emanated from whatever it was next to him. Inexplicably tantalizing. Something pushed at his skin, the force growing stronger when the voice began to scream; it would burst free from him to have just a taste!

Just when he felt himself at the brink, something wrapped around him—feathers?—and shoved back. Vibrant and strong; could it not hold him forever? He was cocooned in its strength, his body squeezed from within and without. Pain bloomed like a flower. Tears oozed down his cheeks in sticky trails and he lapped them up, eager for their metallic taste.

A thrust erupted from his stomach and he cried out with a bestial sound. It went on and on, leaving his throat raw. It was unrecognizable to him as his own voice. The force surrounding him surged inward and kept the power inside from breaking out. As if surrendering, it dispersed.

There was no longer any screaming. No more pain. Just solitude and warmth. There was a tenderness to its embrace, no longer constricting against his skin. Oh, to last an eternity like this...

A whistling broke the silence, drawing near at an alarming rate. Something pierced through the tenderness, breaking through its shield of warmth, and agony seeped deep into his bones.

"You _will_ learn..."

* * *

Jail? They would put that fool in jail? No, absolutely forbidden! The boy's crime could not be forgiven. Cyric did not dabble in forgiveness.

Leaving the care of the harpy had been a task, though nothing too difficult for the blessed. With nightfall, it had been easy enough to sneak out of the inn while the rest of his minions bedded down for the night. Let the slaves sleep. Their master had work to do.

Tiax peered through the cell, watching Bassilus hug himself in the corner. The boy talked to himself, nonsense droning on from his lips. Pathetic! This was the youth he had cherished? Whom he had spent hours and days with preaching Cyric's glory to dispel the hold of heresy? Only to have his mercy spat upon.

He made quick work of the lock and pushed open the door, letting it screech against the floor. Bassilus whirled in his direction. "Who is there? Thurm? Brother? Or perhaps it's you, mother? Ah, but it can't be, can it? It can't be any of you... I saw the slaughter, all of you pulled onto the streets and gutted." He curled on the ground, sobbing.

"Get up." Tiax moved inside, one slow step after another. "Even until the end you defend the heretics of your past. On your knees!"

Bassilus shifted. "Father! The streets ran so red." He choked on his words. "But then... you aren't truly my father."

Tiax stood before him, close enough to look the boy in the eye. He raised a fist and Bassilus cowered, though the blow never came. "Tiax gifted you a spot in his coming supremacy, as scion of Cyric's Right Hand." He laid his hand on Bassilus' shoulder.

"I never failed His teachings. Never! They said you fell from the Way, that you spoke of falsehoods. I only meant to follow, to listen and to obey His command."

"Tiax believes you." He laid another hand on his shoulder, holding the sniffling boy still. His grip turned into an embrace. He cradled Bassilus' head against his shoulder, chanting a prayer—one of the first he had taught him. Bassilus' joined in, his voice warbling.

It had been the boy who had set his mind at ease, quieting the chaos in his mind; no small task when Cyric's whispers swirled in his head. He had done his Lord's work, converting the flock of deceived. Bassilus had been the first and never forgotten, earning a special place. Eager to learn and eager to obey. A fitting gift and follower to accompany him unto divine supremacy.

Hot tears threatened to break free from Tiax's eyes. He squeezed Bassilus harder. Mercy begged for the boy's life, but he had to ignore it. Betrayal beget murder. The power of Cyric manifested in him and Bassilus began to scream. The boy thrashed in Tiax's grip, his anguish echoing off the walls of the confined room.

Even as Bassilus' screams died away, the life Cyric gave returned, Tiax held on. He let go, beating his fists against the corpse. Now it was his anguish that serenaded the cell.


	12. Chapter 12

Why was it so hard for him to talk to her? To empty his mind instead of filling it up with rotten thoughts until it burst? He hadn't been like this, not until leaving Candlekeep. Sure, he never opened up to just anyone, but Gorion always had a knack for picking apart his worries. Wouldn't it be helpful if she had that knack right about now?

Imoen stretched out her legs and sighed. How long had she been sitting by the door to their room now? Zanven kept himself shut away, all but tossing her out when he woke up. Never said a word about his whimpers through the night or why he had been keeled over on the floor clutching his face; he had kept his face hidden from her too when he shoved her out.

He was lucky she didn't have a chance to nab any of her things or else that lock he hid behind would be done for.

Imoen knocked on the door. "At least let me in to grab my stuff. I can't stay in my sleep clothes all day."

Nothing still. She raised her hand to knock harder, stubbornness taking root, until she heard shuffling from inside. The door clicked and cracked open. She waited until his steps retreated and eased into the room.

Zanven sat curled on his bed with the blanket pulled up. He angled his head down and away. Peri stirred at his side, scrambling away to flutter around Imoen's face. "Master is not well, not well at all! Something hurt him."

"Hand me a rag... please, before you go," Zanven said. "Peri is just worrying. Get your things and just give me time alone."

"You're too young to pull off being a hermit, and you know you can't grow the right beard for it." Imoen said. She ignored his mumbles as she changed. "Here's the rag, I'm holding it out for you."

Zanven reached for it, and boy shouldn't he have known better by now! Imoen latched onto his arm and pulled away the covers to get a good look at his face. Streaks of blood trailed down his cheeks. Messy blotches smeared around his mouth. He ripped from her and dove beneath the covers.

"Gods, Zanven, you're bleeding!" She wrestled with him to tear away the blanket. "Stop it! Let me look at you!"

"No! Get away! Get out!" Desperation spilled from his throat. He lashed out with his free arm, sending her toppling onto the bed.

"Whoa what's gotten into you! Just stop—quit hitting—Zanven!" She hugged him, trying to smother his thrashing. What spooked every last bit of his wits away like this?

"What will I learn? I don't understand!" A golden glow erupted from his eyes. Light burned above his head. "Tell me!"

"You're acting crazy! You just need to—" Imoen was tossed onto the ground, her bear hug broken by some newfound might. Zanven jumped to his feet, looming over her. He was unrecognizable, looking the part of a monster. His face was a crimson mess painted around a scowl.

"Leave me alone!" Energy crackled to life as he reached for his magic. Wisps of fire roiled in his fingers. "I've nothing to learn!"

_He's lost his mind!_

Imoen rolled away as he scorched the floor and sprang up with enough force to knock him onto the bed. "You gotta calm down!" _And I need to get out before he torches me. _She wrenched the blanket up and threw it over him, bolting out of the room.

* * *

_Oof!_

"What is the meaning of this? You disturb my morning with your blundering!" The man shoved her aside, nearly sending her to the floor. "(I had not known it was my turn to watch the children.)"

"What? No. I'm not—no, no, Zanven! Magic, fire!" Imoen followed up the cascade of words with worried gestures. Edwin raised a brow. She stomped her foot. "Come on!" She danced around him and pushed against his back.

He squawked and dug in his heels. "Stop this childishness! I'll not take part in whatever nonsense you've schemed up."

"_Nonsense? _This is important!" How dare he glower at her like that! "I need help. Zanven needs help! Like it or not you're supposed to help us, right?"

"Oh, is your blind ward suddenly a bandit? If not, I insist you leave me be." Edwin turned to get away, but Imoen latched onto his arm. He yanked and pushed but she didn't budge. "You are not worth my patience! Let go or you will have one less arm."

Imoen shook her head and hugged his arm tighter. He was meaner than Zanven, but she wagered she could break him too; persistence was key. Edwin took a few steps, trying to drag himself away from her. She clung to him, her grip no looser.

"Enough! Fine, fine! You've a few minutes—_minutes—_of my time."

"Great!" Imoen let go. "Well, you're all magic, right? Wizard and what not, Thay you said?" Edwin groaned and she had to stop him from leaving. He wasn't her first choice, but he was somebody, and she needed anybody right about now. "Look, something's wrong okay? He's not himself. I can show you." She led him toward their room.

"In your monkey speech I believe you mentioned fire and magic." Edwin looked down on her, making no motion to enter the room. "I'll not open this door until you explain yourself."

Explain what? That she woke up to her brother crying blood and kicking her out of their room? Screaming at something only he heard and attacking her? Lots of sense there to find.

"It's… I don't know." Imoen rubbed the back of her neck. "He was bleeding and I don't know why. He wouldn't let me get a look at him and then the next thing I knew he magicked up some fire and tried to burn me to ash."

"(Yes, the boy has the right idea of it. I'd do the same…) So what is it you expect of me?"

Imoen flushed, hands on her hips. "Help! Stop him or fix him or-or… something!"

"(It has been some time since I've put the magically incompetent in their place… I've been away from Thay too long.) So be it. Though if this mageling so much as torches any bit of my robes…" Edwin finished the threat with magic, a glow sprouting around his finger. He murmured words Imoen didn't understand and a barrier flashed around him before dissipating. "You will open this door first."

* * *

Dreams weren't supposed to keep going on after you woke up. You only dreamed when you were sleeping. This wasn't supposed to be. Why did it still cling to him with its viciousness?

Zanven curled up, hugging his knees close. Blood stuck to his face, a disgusting mask he didn't bother to wipe away. No warm touch prevented the gnawing pain this time. It had jumped from dream to reality, a lingering torment.

Remorse paralyzed him. He raised a hand, flexing his fingers. It still tingled from the flames; a reminder of how he had attacked Imoen.

The assassins burned. Gorion burned. Surely Imoen burned all the same? Weak and frail, all no more than charred husks.

A gasp escaped him and he choked on a sob. His stomach rebelled against him, pain scraping under his skin. He curled in on himself tighter, only vaguely hearing Peri's mewling from the corner of the room.

The door creaked open and a timid voice spoke up. "Uh, heya, Zanven. Not gonna roast me this time right pal?"

Zanven kept his head down, voice muffled. "Just go away. Please."

"Rip yourself away from whatever pointless angst you have and let your sister wipe away your tears. (I'm warned of chaos and am met by sniveling? Pfah.) As I thought, my time has been wasted."

"What is he doing here?" His voice turned into a growl. An aura rolled off of Edwin in tune with his beating heart. Zanven reached out as if to take hold. His pulse quickened. His veins turned to boiling oil. Pain bloomed with a sudden craving.

_Let me have it!_

"You would do well to put your hand down, boy. Any wizard worth his salt recognizes a call to the Weave."

Zanven acquiesced. He moved onto his knees, leaning forward on the edge of the bed.

"Yes, yes. All very good. Up now so you can be dragged off to a cleric. (The quicker I can wash my hands of this the be—) Gah!"

Zanven leaped forward, energy rocketing from his hands. The missiles slammed into Edwin judging from his gasp. He scrambled across the floor, hands grasping for the man.

"Zanven, stop! What are you doing?"

"Miserable little pissant!"

"Edwin, don't hurt him!"

Edwin regarded Imoen with a grunt and words tumbled past his lips. Heat rolled off of Zanven, his robes burning and skin blistering. Brimstone permeated the air.

_It is a lesson! Merely a lesson!_

He pushed past the pain and grappled with the wizard. They moved around the room in an awkward dance. He was stronger than Edwin, he knew it! Just wrap his hands around his throat, rend him to pieces!

"You dare!" Edwin struggled to bring their arms down between them and with another phrase sent Zanven flying across the room.

Zanven crashed into the bed and jumped back up, willing his anger into a jet of flame. A manic grin split his face, the crackling fire loud in his ears. He intensified the heat. His grin faltered. Where was the screaming? The agony?

"You toy with me." The flames fizzled out, ripped from his control. Pressure bore down on him, the volley of energy screaming through the air. He crumpled, gasping for air. "You've no finesse, no control. You wield magic as if an oaf flailing a club. Your novice tricks are beneath me."

Edwin's boots clicked against the floor. Zanven went rigid, his muscles seizing up against his will. A roar stuck in his throat like a beast thrashing against its cage. His breath came in bursts, the only action he was capable of. Exhaustion built up from his bound rage as Edwin left him paralyzed.

"He's… okay, right?" Imoen neared him with tentative steps. "I asked you to help me fix him, not try and kill him!"

The soft thud of landing on a cushion accompanied a sigh from Edwin. "Was I not attacked first? You are lucky he still stands."

"Remind me not to ask for your help again."

"A simple enough task."

"Shush you. Throw me that rag, why dontcha?" Imoen rubbed the cloth against Zanven's cheeks. "Ugh, this isn't getting any of it. Gods, it's like you rolled around in a campfire!"

"Be thankful the paralysis should last long enough to temper whatever madness he has taken to."

"But what if it doesn't?"

Edwin let loose a groan. "Then I suppose he will break free and be your problem once more!"

Zanven's locked muscles screamed to be free. Was it not enough to have one sense already robbed from him? He was at their mercy in his body turned prison. The indignity spurred anger. It smashed against the magical confine in waves, failing to brute force its way to freedom. Eventually its persistence tired and left him. Numbness set it in, only interrupted by Imoen tending to his burns.

"You won't tell anybody about this right? I mean, nobody needs to know about this. We can fix this, fix him. Definitely. Loads of potions, some new clothes, and a trip to the temple maybe." Her words tumbled out in rapid succession.

It unnerved him to listen to them. No feeling, no words, no sight. No way to explain that he worried about what the others would think if either of them spoke up. The itching under his skin gave way to apprehension; uncomfortable yet a far more normal feeling.

"(Being in these fools' presence without conversation is cumbersome enough.) I tire of being in the dark. I wish this mess explained, as well as why I am to bumble around with you in this backwater. That is the price of my silence. "

"Great! Where to start? Well—"

"No, I would hear it from him. Alone."

"I'm not leaving him with you, not while he's like this! I can try to trust you to keep your mouth shut, but that's as far it goes."

"Then let us wait. He will return to normal soon enough. Here." Coins jingled through the air. "He will come to and then you will make yourself scarce. That should cover the potions."

Ambivalence clouded over Zanven. The man spoke too calmly. Edwin was far from the first person he wanted a conversation with. No way would Dynaheir approve. Hells, he didn't approve.

* * *

Edwin walked a slow circle in front him. "I trust I've no need to warn you never to accost me like this again, no?"

"It won't happen again." _Shouldn't_ felt more appropriate to say. Zanven struggled to rationalize what had come over him. Outside of guilt weighing him down, he felt normal now.

"Good. I would not be so lenient a second time."

Hurling a fireball at him was lenient? Zanven pulled his arms in close, putting Peri between him and Edwin. They were raw and scratched against his burnt robe; he desperately wanted to change out of it. There wasn't much pain, a strange absence all things considered. Had it happened again? Murderous dreams and healing be damned, he'd take normal over either of them.

"Do not hide your arms." Curiosity evened out Edwin's voice. "(No blisters, no burns. It's as if nothing happened.)"

"Stop that! I know you're staring. I can hear you too. Everybody can when you mutter like that."

"Bah. I do nothing of the sort. (Noth—)" Edwin cleared his throat. "I have done as that cheery brat asked and… fixed you. It is only fair I receive answers for my toil."

Zanven frowned. Fix? He was never broken. He was just, well, off. "Answers? To what?"

"All of this! Everything. You bled from your eyes and attacked me the moment I came through the door. You sit here unharmed after dealing with magic far beyond your grasp. Blind as you are and bereft of the finer points of spellcraft, you seem to have some worth to you."

Zanven tensed. "I am _worth_ nothing to nobody." The string of assassins since Candlekeep proved that false. He was worth quite a real price in gold to them.

"Hardly. There's an intrinsic value to sorcerers. You make that face as if you don't litter clues in your wake. You've a fairy dragon as your familiar and you cast without so much as a speck of sulfur. (I did not survive my trials in Thay without recognizing the basics of the arcane.)"

"What is it to you?"

"It is an explanation for you wielding magic like an untamed beast at my expense! It is customary to avoid attacking members of one's group without reason and to explain the group's purpose."

Zanven's shoulders rose. "I don't know what you want me to say." Part of him was genuinely uncertain. Another found it all too easy to avoid confessing anything to the surly wizard.

"What came over you? How are you not a pile of cinders at my feet right now? Why is a blind boy hardly capable of harnessing the flames that sprout from his fingertips paraded around the Heartlands and protected like nobility?" Edwin's voice rose with each question, as if his exasperation alone could force answers.

"I don't want this, you know! I want to be home and not on the road, needing others to watch my back! What do you care, really? You'll help us, Dynaheir will be done with you, and then you'll be off on your way." Zanven's leg bounced as his voice bordered on shouting. He went quiet after the outburst, embarrassed at opening up to the stranger. Edwin didn't deserve too much information from him.

"(My patience for sorcerous children and their lack of control grows thin. He whines just like her, though far less prattling on of morals and philosophy.)"

"I… don't know who you are talking about."

"No, it is none of your business. (She is nothing. Why am I thinking of her?)" Edwin coughed. "Regardless, whether I leave the group or not after this task of yours hardly matters. What does is that I do not need to fear the magical tantrums of one able to fight through a fireball."

Every word from the man's mouth touched on a nerve. A verbal fencer tearing into every opening. Gods, wasn't it infuriating!

"I can control myself as well as any." Except when he couldn't; would it take another one of those deranged dreams to unhinge him again? "I didn't mean to attack you or Imoen, but I assure you it won't happen again. I don't know why I'm not worse off than I should be after you stopped me. And whether we like it or not, we're hunting down bandits. I'm treated as I am because I'd very much like to be alive."

Edwin harrumphed with a snort. If he didn't like those answers then fine, let him cry. "Then perhaps I'll discover the why in time with a little study. I've all the reason to mistrust your magic. (Is it that they play baby sitter for him to craft what little he knows safely? Pathetic.)"

"That's not at all how it is!"

"Then I expect you to avoid dancing around the truth I desire."

The door creaked open and light steps skipped into the room.

"I'm back. Tried to be as quick as could be." Imoen shoved a bottle into his hand. She rummaged around his bag and a fresh pair of clothes was set next to him. "Drink this up, just to be safe, and get changed. There's a couple more here for ya. Oh, Edwin, these were pretty pricey. Hardly had a coin left over."

"I know how much they cost. Do not play me, girl. I expect the remaining coins in my palm now!"

"Aw, come on. Like you'd really miss them."

"It is my property and I demand it to be respected. I will not ask again."

Zanven listened to them grumble until Edwin spared them one last insult before leaving. Let him go and mull over whatever it was he wanted to study. It didn't matter. None of it mattered, so long as he promised to control himself. The thought of threatening Imoen stilled his heart. He could control himself. He had to.

* * *

"Thou seemeth off, Zanven." The table shifted as Dynaheir leaned against it. "Thou hast hardly said a word to anybody today."

Zanven straightened. He had said quite enough to Edwin earlier in the morning. He stabbed at the food on his plate, playing at the charade of eating. "I just don't find the day agreeable."

"Thou hast declined Imoen's offer to explore Beregost and mine own as well when I saw to minor errands." Dynaheir pulled over a chair. "Keeping cooped up harms the mind and soul. Walls drive the wolf mad."

"Walls do me just fine." Walls were safe. Reliable. The more barriers between him and trouble the better.

"Ah, I see." A hint of dejection in her tone. "I thought it prudent to check in with thee. If thou art fine…"

Zanven set his fork down. There was no need for rudeness. "I am fine, thank you. Really." His mind reeled, trying to further conversation. "Are the others all about town?"

"I've not seen Imoen for quite some time. I permitted Minsc to join her. Jaheira and Khalid have come and gone. Tiax is… somewhere, although I am hard-pressed to wonder where."

She made no mention of Edwin. She wouldn't like to hear of their earlier fight, which was for the best. Zanven dared not risk the questions that would spawn from an explanation of it. Worry washed over him; Imoen hadn't said anything to Dynaheir had she? She couldn't have, not with how adamant she was on covering it up—a miracle too with how she had cleaned up the damage to their room. Definitely Winthrop's daughter.

"Zanven? Art thou in the clouds?"

"Huh? I, ah, no… you didn't speak with Imoen before she went out did you?"

Dynaheir chuckled. "I did. She had questions abound. It is a shame she does not share thy blood. She certainly hath enough of an interest in the arcane and I might wager a burgeoning mind to along with it."

Paranoia put down a sarcastic remark on the tip of Zanven's tongue. "So that was it then? Nothing more?"

"Well, yes. Is there something wrong?"

"It's, I, ah… was merely curious." Zanven hunched over, focusing his attention back onto his plate. It didn't seem like Imoen loosened her lips; thank the gods for that wonder. Some questions could be safe then. "Do you dream, Dynaheir?" He backpedaled immediately; dumb, dumb, dumb! "I mean, that is, do you think maybe there is something to them?"

"I dream on occasion," Dynaheir said, a smile in her voice. Embarrassment crept up on him. "They can harbor all sorts of meanings, worlds unto themselves. Have thy dreams troubled thee?"

Yes! Yes, very much!

"No." Zanven sucked in air. He waved a shaky hand. "They've just been strange is all."

"As they often are. Seers through the ages have made it their lives' work to sift through the fragments dreams offer and even they struggle to discern their meanings."

"I'm just unused to all of this. I let my mind run wild even while I sleep, I suppose."

"Do not be so quick to ignore them." Her tone shifted as if giving a lecture. "Ambiguous or not, the visions in our sleep can glimpse into futures beyond compare. Fate, destiny, call it what thou wilt. Alas, we are not all Alaundo… certainly not Minsc, the Three bless his heart. I've had enough of hearing of hamster dreams. Those are most _definitely_ not visions."

No. They were just nightmares. Horrid, terrible nightmares that would go away and leave him alone in time.

"Alaundo?" Zanven latched onto familiarity; curse those chanters and their incessant noise, but it was something he knew. "You know of him?"

Dynaheir paused, the hesitation unlike her. "I could hardly call myself learned if I didn't. Even in faraway Rashemen his words are heeded with respect. His wisdom has traveled all of Faerun."

Sayeth the wise Alaundo this, sayeth the wise Alaundo that. Already the chants were on the tip of tongue, years of hearing them droned on and on imprinted into his mind.

_The Lord of Murder shall perish…_

Zanven shivered. "Alaundo was a legend. My dreams are just dreams. Totally incomparable."

"Seers' visions are often clouded by modesty, I'm sure Alaundo himself included. What dost thou dream of, Zanven?"

"Nothing. Inappropriate things that just make it hard to sleep."

"Inappropriate? An odd description." There was the faintest intake of breath, a tiny chuckle stymied.

"That's… I, ah, meant something else. Improper—no! Unseemly or-or…" Zanven's cheeks burned. He had the urge to dive beneath the table, buried under his collapsed nerves. "L-like I said, just strange d-dreams. Excuse me."

Telling Dynaheir what he experienced as he slept was impossible. No, he didn't need to tell anybody; not until he knew himself. He stood up, ready to make for the stairs, when she grabbed his wrist.

"Sit, please. Thou fleeth far too quickly." Dynaheir's grip loosened as she guided him back to his seat. "Thou art more wolf than mouse than thou giveth thyself credit for. Light jest is nothing to run from."

Zanven shifted in his chair. She picked up on that by now, that his nerves very much favored flight. He went back to poking at his food, head bent down. Dynaheir clicked her tongue. "What?"

"Thou looketh like a beaten pup. Square thy shoulders and hold thy head up." She reached over and straightened him out, lifting his chin up. "There. That is a fine start."

Zanven found his tongue thick in his mouth. He squirmed at her touch, but Dynaheir was so sudden in setting his posture he resisted little. He slouched and she chided him again.

"Ah ah, none of that. I fear it may be too late to make a berserker out of thee, but meekness does not suit thee."

"Meek? I… I am not meek."

Oh yeah, that stammer really helped out there.

"No, of course not. Not while thou art in mine presence." Dynaheir chuckled, her sternness crumbling. "Cheer up, Zanven, and look a little less dour. Thou shaketh at mine every word." She clapped him on the shoulder.

A frown formed out of habit, but Zanven allowed himself a small smile. "I suppose the day is a bit more agreeable now."

"Sometimes days must be made agreeable. Bend if thou must, but never break. Thou willst find mine teasing easier to withstand that way."

* * *

"So…"

Zanven didn't like Imoen's tone. Some sort of uncomfortable question was bubbling in her head. "So?"

"Now that I have you outta the inn and in the sunshine, I need to know some things." Liquid sloshed as Imoen tipped back a bottle of wine. "Mainly… how come you wasted such good weather away!"

"We've been on the move for days. I quite enjoy a roof over my head." Zanven readjusted himself, sitting cross-legged. He plucked at the grass. "I don't see the appeal out here when there are chairs and beds inside." He groaned when she snorted, realizing his choice of words. Leave it to her to laugh at the silliest of things.

"I like it. It's a quaint little spot, there's trees, and we're not too far from the others inside, y'know, if things go south. Here, have some of this. No saying no!" Imoen shoved the bottle into his hand and he drank from it. "Remember your first drink? It's still crystal clear to me."

"Oh I remember… we were hardly teenagers, Imoen, and you told me it was some fancy magical elven drink!"

"Not my fault you were gullible enough to believe me. Was practically bottom of the barrel stuff, too!"

"Nobody found me until well past sundown. I was singing to Nessa in a pile of hay."

"You're an awful singer, Master. Definitely no bard," Peri added. The familiar shared a laugh with Imoen.

Zanven crossed his arms. Gorion had shown no mercy the next morning, fully expecting him to deal with the hangover he earned. No wonder he shied away from alcohol since.

"Don't throw a fit." Imoen took back her wine. "I saw this place when I was out with Minsc earlier, and I knew it'd be perfect for a brother-sister bonding moment."

"Pray tell, what does that entail?"

"A little bit of this, a little bit of that. Questions, questions, questions." She slid next to him and poked him in the chest. "I saw you talking with Dynaheir."

"And? So what." Suspicion blunted Zanven's retort.

"You're no different now than when Phlydia's granddaughter visited her. I don't think I ever saw you outside of the library that much before, but then again she was a bookworm. Practically ran you out of your lair. Always running from the fairer sex, right?"

"That's—you're—shut up!" His voice betrayed him, raising a pitch. "You've had too much wine, Imoen."

"You'll figure it out someday when you grow up. There's books I'm sure, although you might not want Peri to read 'em for ya. Dynaheir maybe instead, or even that elf back at the carnival?"

That was enough. Zanven fell onto Imoen and grabbed for the bottle. They rolled around in the grass laughing and cursing. "Haha! Alright, alright! You win, take it from me." For a moment they laid still, silent except for their breathing.

"I really think you might have had too much." He shook the bottle, half the bottle gone. Odd even for Imoen.

"I won't argue that." She paused, a feat for her. "I was wondering all day about something. You wouldn't have… really tried to burn me up, would ya?

No, of course not! The question struck deep, guilt taking root. He grimaced. "I wasn't myself."

"Well, don't go doing it again! No more bleeding out your eyes and no more crazy. I wanna stay unroasted."

"I'll try, Imoen."

"Tryin's only the first step to doing. Halfsies gets ya nowhere."

She hid behind the bottle of wine and that pained him. The last thing he wanted was her of all people to fear him. A wave of helplessness overtook him. There were never any answers to anything. The bounties, the dreams, the magical outbursts…. None of it made any sense.

"Hey." He nudged her. "You never said anything to anybody right? Like you said you wouldn't? About my—"

"Haven't said a word, and if that red-robed ninny kept his word he hasn't either. I trust him to though. He hates us all and none of us like him. Simple enough for him to uphold his promise of silence when there's nobody to talk to."

That was a relief. He didn't need Jaheira or Khalid fretting over whatever madness afflicted him. Tiax and Minsc he didn't worry about since it would go over their heads. Best to leave it a secret between him and Imoen… and Edwin.

He would have to stay attentive around Edwin. The wizard said he would study him and Zanven believed that. That unknown factor bothered him almost as much as the monster under his skin. Nobody had mentioned anything about the bounty on his head around Edwin—at least, the wizard shouldn't have known about it yet. He wouldn't try and make due on it if he knew would he?

Dynaheir must know Edwin's tricks, as rivals were wont to do. He could confide in her, even if only a little. If it involved keeping Edwin away at arms' length she would do what she could to help. Then again, that meant going down the slippery slope of having to explain all the oddities.

There weren't very many options though. Only Dynaheir and Edwin had any real magical background. If anybody would know anything, it'd be either of them. It was unfortunate that Edwin had already caught a glimpse of him and was about as trustworthy as he was moody.

"Hey." Imoen prodded his cheek. "Stop it. You're doing that thing I tell you not to!"

"What do you mean?"

"Too much thinking." She wrapped her fingers around his head and shook. "Give your brain a break."

"Come off it, Imoen." He batted her away, though she continued to lean on him. He angled himself away; from the smell of it she might as well have dumped the bottle all over herself. "I'll tell you what I think. I think you've had enough. We should head back inside."

"Nu uh. The grass is so comfortable! Besides," she said, her voice dropping to a giddy whisper as if privy to a secret only she knew, "what I _think_ is that you just want to bait Dynaheir into talking with you so you can run off like you do."

Zanven flicked her forehead and hauled himself to his feet. He ignored Imoen's giggling. "I'm going."

"Oh, I've an idea! We can talk to her together. There's all sorts of things I can tell her!"

"Im, no. No no no! Absolutely not!"

She grabbed his wrist and took off, drowning out his complaints with laughter.

* * *

Author's Notes: Gotta heap some (more) praise on Kaispan! I had meant to put it up sooner, but Zanven's got a face now, and as someone who can't do much artistically outside of words I'm incredibly thrilled.

WW: Yeah, the Tiax/Imoen scenes are some of the more entertaining ones for me. In hindsight, rereading the Bassilus scene has me kicking myself over that. I appreciate pointing it out. Thanks again for the reviews!


	13. Chapter 13

"G-get away!"

He didn't need to tell her twice. Imoen heeded Khalid's order, scrambling away with Zanven in tow. They weaved through the brush, monstrous footsteps at their back. Even with Khalid and Minsc at the ogre's heels the monster still charged after her; who'd have thought it'd harbor a grudge over an arrow to the eye?

Energy hummed from Zanven as he reached behind them, colored orbs crashing into the beast. "Hey, you actually got him!" Kind've hard to miss something that big.

"I swear, Imoen, if this is how we die…" Zanven's threat sputtered out in between breaths as they ran.

"It's not my fault! We had a plan and everything. How was I to know he'd hate me the most?"

Flashes streaked over head as Dynaheir and Edwin added their magic into the mix. The trees the ogre blundered through whipped out at him at Jaheira's will. Tiax whooped with his sling whirling overhead, the bullets imbued in the nasty crimson hue he was fond of. The monster's rampage endured in spite of their efforts.

The earth shook, dirt exploding into the air as the ogre's club slammed the ground behind them. Imoen screamed and stumbled onto her knees; Zanven collapsed ahead of her, Peri buzzing around trying to get him back on his feet. Imoen skittered away and raised her short sword up, as if the tooth pick of a blade would ward off the monster.

With its prey scattered before it, the ogre looked back and forth between Imoen and Zanven. What, did the big, dumb oaf not know what to do when it caught them? Imoen retracted that thought when it settled a leer on her; club raised and a hand reaching for her, she had no doubt it figured out its plan quick enough.

The world turned upside down as the ground receded. A meaty hand crushed her leg, suspending her near the ogre's face. Screaming did nothing to loosen its grip; however it certainly helped anger the creature. It reared back, Imoen no more than a rag doll in its hand, and she feared it'd dash her brains out.

Instead the ogre dropped to a knee, roaring in pain. Imoen fell to the ground and Jaheira was at her side, dragging her to safety. Minsc's great blade had sliced through the ogre's leg, carving deep through skin and bone. Khalid shouted out to the beast and danced around the clumsy swings he provoked. Another blow crippled its good leg, and the two men surged forth, hacking away at the hobbled threat. It crashed face first into the ground and Minsc wasted no time planting his sword through its skull, a war cry heralding victory.

* * *

"Such aim!" Minsc laid an arm across Imoen's shoulder as they stood before the ogre corpse. "Boo is proud. You went for the eyes."

"Aw, well, y'know." Imoen shuffled her feet, swallowed up in Minsc's embrace. "I'm sure Boo could do better than me if he was a little bigger… and had hands… and wasn't a gerbil."

"Ah, not gerbil. Miniature giant space hamster. Besides, in combat we must play to our strengths, and in victory there is no modesty!"

"I would prefer if your victories involved a keener eye toward the safety of those in my charge," Jaheira said.

"I had a feeling you really did care about us. Feelin' all warm and fuzzy aint'cha?" Imoen grinned at the pointed stare Jaheira leveled at her. She slipped away to get a closer look at the ogre, eyeing what little possessions the ogre had. Minsc was right: no modesty in victory. Spoils to the victor, right?

Strange. Lashed across its forearm was a pair of belts, both far too small to stretch across the giant's waist; that was one way to wear bracers on the cheap. One was plain while the other stood out. It looked to be made from fine leather and a green gem sparkled at the center. A rolling pattern stretched across it—kinda looked like words? Pretty little thing.

Imoen looked it over, turning it every which way. She unlatched the buckle and held it close to her waist, careful to not let it touch her; it had been around an ogre after all. Too big. Shame. It had too much a masculine look anyway, wouldn't suit her.

The belt probably would fit Zanven though. Considering he dressed hardly a step above the monks, any addition to his wardrobe couldn't hurt. She poked at the green stone set in the buckle one last time and stowed it away in her pack before hopping to catch up with everybody.

* * *

"Did I not say that fool's ramblings were suspect? You would drive us further west so we swim in search of these pests? (As if we aren't already. Blast this rain!)"

Jaheira swore a vicious stream of words that would have made Winthrop blush. "We follow the lead we have."

"Your lead involves hunting down bandits a Cyricist swore were after a pirate's treasure."

"Dynaheir, silence your dog before I'm forced to do something he'll regret."

"Edwin, close thy mouth."

Tiax and Imoen shared a laugh, provoking a squawk from Edwin. Minsc grunted, quick to rise to his witch's aid. Zanven shook his head. The façade of party unity slipped away, unable to last the better part of the day.

"G-guys, p-please!" Khalid did his best to speak over everybody. "I think it must be the rain souring our spirits."

"The only thing souring my spirit is that we are to play lemming while she finds us a cliff to hop off of. If I am to be dragged around hunting the dregs of society, have the decency to use logic. These bandits seek iron, not made up treasure."

"Your honesty is… refreshing, b-but lace it well with t-tact."

"(I've enough tact to command my own tongue.) Think. Simple as they may be, these bandits know waylaying merchants is a reality. Buried treasure is not. We are well away from the roads they poach. Let us turn back now and let someone other than your lover play detective."

Khalid sputtered out a cough, an unusual sign of frustration. Edwin trampled over the man's efforts at diplomacy, and Zanven found himself rising to Khalid's defense.

"Maybe with Nashkel's mines back, they are desperate for something new?" Zanven asked. He expected Edwin to bull rush him with a list of reasons why that'd be wrong, but instead Khalid responded.

"That is a fair point. D-desperation lures many to banditry as is. For now, surely there is no harm in p-pulling at this string?"

Edwin snorted. "Utter nonsense."

* * *

"Tiax saw that trinket you're hiding."

Imoen jumped and glared at him. "Can't you go busy yourself with helping set up camp?"

"You expect Tiax to share in his servants' work? That is not leadership." Tiax yawned with a hum, strangely mundane for the gnome. "Wipe that look off your face. Tiax is curious, but not so to seize your plunder. You brought Tiax a great hunt with that ogre, so he gifts you your share."

Oh yeah, because she needed Tiax's permission to loo—uh, _appropriate _what the dead could no longer use. His word was law only in his bizarre excuse for a brain.

Imoen regarded him with suspicion. Either he was better at hiding his outbursts or he was genuinely in an agreeable mood. Oh, what was the harm? She rummaged in her pack and pulled out the belt. "Pretty cool, eh—hey! Give it back!"

"Tiax knows gnomish craftsmanship. Longlimbs couldn't cut gems like this." He tapped the bejeweled buckle and studied the design that wrapped around it. He hummed louder, brow furrowed. "Odd…"

"Odd? What's odd? S'just a belt. Might as well try it on if you like, since, y'know, you're fine taking other people's stuff."

Tiax brought the belt to his waist and kept turning it around in his hands. "No, Tiax thinks not. It is much too girly for Tiax. It is not fit to accentuate his ascendency." He shoved it back into her hands with a hiss. "Tiax knows, too, that it bears Glitterbright marks!"

Girly? What did he see that she didn't? What woman would don a belt like this? Practically screamed manly to her.

"Glitterwhat?"

"Tiax is gnome enough to spot Garl's handiwork."

A smile split Imoen's face. "Wait. You're saying it's magic, aint'cha?"

Tiax waved his hand. "If you want to call the cantrip on this belt magic, you may. Tiax will not recognize a heathen artifact."

Magic. It was magical, and it was hers! Sure, who knew what that meant, but hey, devils and details.

Imoen cradled it in her arms. "Thanks, Tiax. I think you've finally been helpful for once in your life."

"Tiax is always helpful. To himself… and his favorite minions on occasion."

"Like me, yeah?"

Frustration erupted from Tiax's mouth and he spat on the ground. Now that was much more characteristic of him. He moved away, ranting under his breath about Garl Glittergold and nonbelievers.

"Magic, huh?" she whispered. Her fingers danced across the leather belt and she lifted it in front of her face. "I think we can find a better owner for you than that big ol' brute."

* * *

The camp quieted down as the group bunkered down for the night. Zanven lay on his back, arms resting on his stomach.

"Is Minsc keeping you awake, Master?" Peri asked, sleep distorting his voice. "We can tell him he doesn't need to talk so loud. Boo can hear him."

"No, Minsc is fine. He's not bothering me."

It wasn't the Rashemi's attempts at whispering that kept Zanven up. Something else hoarded sleep from his reach: remnants from past nightmares echoed in his mind.

"You can sleep, Master. It is alright… just close… your eyes…" Peri was gone. Zanven reached over and scratched his head. It should have been as simple as that.

His mind wandered, avoiding settling on what kept rest away from him. He remembered Imoen's excitement over the belt she found. Such misplaced joy; a common theme with her. She swore up and down it was magical and there was something special to it.

Ha. Fat chance. Probably as magical as that 'elven' wine.

It was a surprise she handed it over to him. She said it suited him better and was too big for her anyway. He stowed it away the moment he could when Imoen let him be.

Awake now at the late hour, with sleep beyond his grasp, he wondered how that idea popped into her head. Seriously? A magical belt on an ogre in the middle of the wilderness; the creature didn't even wear it properly!

Zanven shifted and pulled the belt out of his pack. Maybe it'd help him sleep. Besides, Imoen would throw a fit if he didn't humor her and give it at least a little bit of attention. The leather was smooth and he could feel indents running from one end to the other. Some sort of gem made up the buckle, a particular bit that Imoen talked on and on about.

Why did she give it to him? Maybe she would pressure him about needing better clothes when they returned to Beregost. Let her fret over clothes. His attire didn't matter to him so long as he was comfortable. Never bothered him back home and it wouldn't now.

The belt felt slim in his hands. Surely Imoen didn't think it was meant for men; gods help her if she was trying to get him to model it for her. He rubbed the gem and felt it warm up, a slow buildup of something within it.

Zanven frowned. Now that was strange. For once maybe Imoen had been right about her fantastic claims. Best not let her know or she'd lord it over him for eternity.

Of all the things to be magical, a belt? An odd article of clothing to enchant, though perhaps it was for practical reasons. Curiosity guided his fingers to unlatching the buckle. He didn't need to let Imoen know about this. Just wear it for a moment, see what there was to it, and then take it off. He raised from the ground enough to get it around his waist and buckled it up.

Nothing. No sparks of energy. No tickling of the arcane at work. Just a regular old belt. Of course. He felt stupid for giving Imoen credence. Asleep and she still pulled one over on him.

Zanven muttered to himself when his breath shortened. He struggled for air as his lungs squeezed in on themselves. Coldness swept over him. Something kneaded his body, a force stretching him in every direction. All at once he could breathe again, a tingling spreading through his limbs.

He flopped onto his back, gulping in air. Sweet merciful gods, that certainly was magic! He rolled over and hair rubbed against his nose. Changing sides provided no escape as it continued to tickle his face. He brushed it aside and it tugged at his scalp. He patted his head, his hair thicker and falling past his shoulders.

That… certainly wasn't supposed to be.

"What in the—" Zanven covered his mouth. "that's… that's me?"

The voice coming from his lips was not his. It couldn't be. It cracked as it rose up a pitch. His hands trembled, one raking through his hair and the other shaking his familiar.

"P-P-Peri. Peri! Wake up!"

The dragon rolled over. "Master, please… I'm tired and—" Peri scrambled to attention, a whirlwind of wings and limbs. He hissed in surprise. "Uh…"

The moment of confusion threatened to tear Zanven apart. He hid his face in his arms. "S-something is very wrong."

"Master?" Peri shoved his head between Zanven's arms and pried them apart with his claws. Zanven felt his gaze drilling into him. Peri laughed, trembling in a storm of squeaks.

"Stop that! Right now!" Zanven succeeded in getting Peri to laugh even harder. He mustered anger into his voice, but he couldn't command the tone.

"Zanven? Peri? Minsc hears sounds of distress."

"Peri, please! Shut up!" Zanven pulled Peri to his chest, burying him in his robe. He flipped onto his stomach and covered himself up. Minsc's heavy steps stopped nearby and the giant stood over him. Dread wormed its way down his spine.

_He can't see me he can't see me I'm asleep he can't see me._

"I heard noises from you two. Should Minsc know something?"

Peri wriggled out from beneath Zanven. "It's just me. I had a funny dream and it woke me up." He flicked his tail, thumping it against Zanven. "Funny, funny, Minsc!"

"Ah, that is good. Boo said you were alright, but Minsc feared the worst. I am glad it is nothing. When I am not standing vigilant against evil you must tell me all about it."

"Oh, absolutely! Tomorrow. Yes, when we are all awake." The fairy dragon couldn't even talk without giggling.

Zanven fumed in the face of the indignity of it all. How dare Peri—_his familiar!_—prey on his embarrassment. He dared not even twitch until Minsc walked away.

"I don't understand. You're … not you?" Peri struggled to hold his composure. Zaven resisted the urge to swat him.

Zanven dragged his fingers across his face. His voice changed and his hair lengthened. He crossed his arms; they shot to his sides after folding over the new lumps weighing on his chest. He moved his legs to sit up and stopped abruptly; something was most definitely wrong.

"N-no. I'm not m-me." His shaky reply was hardly above a whisper.

The belt! Zanven clawed at it in desperation. It refused to budge in spite of his efforts, tightening around his waist. _Come off! Turn me back!_

"Is that what Imoen gave you? I like it."

"No, you do not like it!" Zanven quivered in frustration. "I do not like it. Nobody likes it!" Oh, he was going to have Imoen's head for this in the morning… but that meant everybody seeing him. "This isn't happening. This is a dream. Another horrid dream."

A different dream, but terrible nonetheless.

Confusion wrapped him in its arms and sent him off to sleep. Maybe enough mortification could kill and he'd avoid the passage of night.

* * *

Zanven slept with his face buried in his bedroll. The sun was up far too soon and from the sounds of it, so was the group. He groaned.

"Jeez. We're about ready to just leave ya here, sleepy lump." Imoen nudged him with her boot.

The time of reckoning roared in his face. He tensed, butterflies swirling in his stomach. There would be no mercy, only humiliation.

"You knew," Zanven croaked. Damn this warbling voice!

"Knew what? You sound funny. The rain make you sick or something?" Imoen crouched next to him and grabbed his shoulder. "Up and at 'em before Lathander drops the sun on your head to spite ya."

Zanven snatched her collar and pulled her down. "Fix. Me."

"Hey now! Easy. You're not snappin' on me again are you?" Imoen hesitated. Time slowed to a crawl; he could feel the gears in her head turning as she managed a good look at him. "Zanven?"

Curiosity spilled past the wall holding it back. He shoved her away and burrowed into his flimsy bedroll. Please no. Just a little more time to stave it off.

"Oh, Zanven, my sweet brother."

Her sing-song cheer sent his nerves flaring. They blazed at her stifled laugh.

"Angelgirl?"

He sprung at her, uncoiling like a snake.

* * *

"Your hair is longer than mine now. Just look at it, it's so nice!"

"Thou art shorter too. I can hardly believe thou art the waif before mine eyes."

"I would think you of all people, child, would know not to toy with unknown magic."

The women crowded around him, taking in his transformation. There was nothing to prepare himself for this treatment. Imoen played with his hair, all giggles. Dynaheir prodded him and turned him around for inspection. Mercifully, Jaheira was the only one to leave him alone.

"How was I to know?" Zanven asked, shoulders slumping. "This is your fault, Imoen."

"I toldja it was magic! Maybe this'll teach you to start listening to me. Just take it off and you'll be right as rain… right?"

"I can't!" Zanven cringed at his voice. Was it too much to ask for the ground to swallow him up? "I-it won't come off. I've tried."

"A curse mayhaps? 'Twould not be the first of its kind." Dynaheir said.

"Count yourself lucky then. There are far more malicious curses to experience." Jaheira said.

"I can't be stuck like this. This is wrong, all wrong! There has to be a way to get it off."

What if it was permanent? _Gods, what if it was permanent!?_

"While the balance is… upset, you are yet alive. Cease your fretting. There is little we can do about it out in the wilderness as we are."

"Easy for you to say! You didn't wake up a man now did you?" Zanven fought against the belt to no avail. "I don't want this. Why would I want this?"

He realized his mistake when the air between them turned cool. The trio of women didn't take to his implication well.

"What is thy meaning? In Rashemen women are most respected."

"Now you're just being whiny and mean."

"If you are implying your absent gender equates superiority…"

Zanven threw his hands up. "N-n-n-no! Not at all. It's—I mean—I just… I must p-pack my things." He scrambled away from the women looming over him to break camp. He could hear the rest of the group murmuring about him, but he ignored them.

"For what it's worth," Imoen said, peeking over his shoulder, "I really didn't know about the belt. I mean, had I known I probably woulda kept quiet anyway, but y'know…"

"I bet."

"Sourpuss." She pinched his shoulder. "Wished as a kid that I had a sister. Only took nearly a decade and a belt for that to pass."

"Yeah, well, keep on wishing." Zanven pushed her away. "I am _not_ your sister. That—_this_ is ridiculous."

"Welcome to the sisterhood." She started fiddling with his locks again. "Really, this ain't fair. I stress over my hair, my skin, the whole lot, while you put on a belt and Sune pops down and hands you pretty on a silver platter."

Zanven turned his head away, hiding burning cheeks. "Don't call me that."

"Aw, someone has to. Gonna need new clothes for sure now. You look like a couple o' halflings standing on each other's shoulders in that robe. Dresses, skirts…"

He hugged his sagging robe closer to him, mouth open in horror. "I'm no doll for you to play dress up with!"

"That's only because you never let me before. Not much choice now, huh? Don't worry, it'll be fun when we get to shoppin'." She patted his head. "Missie, we'll make a woman out of you."

* * *

Gulls shrieked up above and the crashing of waves signaled they neared the beach. "Oh to go for a swim right about now," Imoen said.

"Neither the time nor the place," Jaheira said. How was the ocean not the place? The woman scanned the shore and pointed. "Bassilus spoke of a shipwreck and that is what we have found. Stay alert, for there may be bandits about."

"Oh, I'm sure they strayed to conveniently await us," Edwin said. "Tell me, do you think they found the 'X' marking their treasure?"

The two exchanged barbs as the party marched toward the wreck. The crumbling structure had to have been there for quite some time, run down as it was. The weather and ocean combined made sure it had seen better days. It split apart at the middle with its masts toppled over. Rope stretched out into the water, the tatters of old sails caught within flotsam.

Imoen was in awe at the old ship. "I bet it looked great before busting up on these rocks. How about we fix it and make me captain? I'd make a great pirate, sailing the seas and plundering booty from here to Calimshan."

"Being a pirate is a bad thing," Zanven said.

Khalid cleared his throat. "P-punishments against piracy down south are heavy-handed, Imoen. Calishite law demands p-pirates are b-bound and left in the desert while the Amnish lash them to the sea stocks."

"Sea stocks?" She doubted it was a better fate than being stuck in the desert.

"They are wooden p-posts outside the harbor criminals are chained to. If the ocean doesn't k-kill them, then the sun and starvation do."

Imoen blanched. "Well… like I said, I'd be a great pirate. No capture for me. Do my plunderin' and retire from the sea."

She followed until they stood before the bow. It lay smashed against the rocks, jutting upward so its water-logged innards were visible. "We're not going in there are we?"

Jaheira sighed. "No. There is little to gain from picking over this vessel's corpse."

"Ha, perhaps next time my advice will be heeded," Edwin said. "We have nothing to speak of except tired legs from this venture."

Imoen frowned and turned back to look at the wreck. It did seem kind've farfetched that they'd find the bandits Bassilus spoke of here. She squinted when she saw movement atop the broken deck. Something small scurried along, stopping to watch them.

A voice shouted from the ship. "Ho there wertles!"

Wertles? What in the world…

The party stood ready, unsure of what to make of the figure tossing a rope over the side. It clambered down, ambling over to them until they could see it was a man. He mirrored Tiax in size, an aging gnome with white hair sprouting in every direction. "How do you do? Mad Arcand has missed company, wertle-woo oh wertle-woooo…"

"We are fine," Jaheira said. She had no intentions of entertaining the odd gnome. "Do you reside in this wreck?"

"Sometimes I do, other times I do not," Arcand rasped along in sing-song fashion. He marched right up to Jaheira and stared up at her, much to her disgust. "Woman of the Wild, with your youth hidden from war, know that foreign lands yield heartbreak, on it vengeance you make."

Jaheira's face tightened and she stepped forward, hand locked onto her staff. "I will not tolerate you hiding behind foolishness, stranger. Answer me"

"Listen to the pheasants and penguins in the boobery trees and you will hear." Arcand bounded amongst the group and settled on Khalid. "Son of the Wish Granters, harp from the sands, life ever so fleeting, your heart no longer beating."

A cough exploded from Khalid. "I d-don't know what you m-mean, g-good gnome."

"Cease your riddles! We'll not listen to your malicious ramblings." Jaheira rushed to her husband's side, swiping at Arcand.

Arcand waggled his finger, skipping from the couple to Minsc. "Fury of Land Strange, bringing justice through boot and blade, part of the dread, of good friends dead."

"Minsc does not like your sad tales and neither does Boo. Look upon his tiny tears and apologize."

"Boo wertles, oh wertle oh woo." The gnome pointed at Dynaheir and Edwin. "Witch and Warlock, enemies at each other's throats, no different in their skin, seeking god's sin."

Dynaheir watched Arcand through a mask of indifference, though her hands twitched. Edwin scoffed. "I should smite you where you stand. One vile half-man is already enough to deal with. (Seeds of… something in the chimp's madness?)"

Arcand tried to stare Tiax face to face, but the angrier gnome forced him away. "Tiax's ascension will outlaw insanity and insipid chanting!"

"Ah, misguided wertle. Divine Deviant, besieged by betrayal, ruling all, behind a cell wall." If Arcand feared any of Tiax's threats then he displayed no signs. "And at last, the Children Two—"

"Oh, that's us, that's us!" Imoen shook Zanven's arm. "He means us!" Zanven slipped out of her grip, a grimace marring his changed face.

"Not so nice wertle, interrupting Mad Arcand's woo." Arcand shoulders slumped before he bounced up, eyes wide. "Again the Children Two, both bathed in blood of misery, differing in the Heavens' shine, sayeth words that shall align."

"I demand again that you speak clearly. If you won't, then you've wasted our time. Return to your ship and let us go our separate ways." Jaheira simmered, the gnome having trodden all over her patience; even Tiax took longer to ignite her anger.

Zanven stirred, his legs shaking. "We should go, I think. Jaheira is right."

"Be that so?" Arcand stared at Zanven, all trace of merry vanishing from his face. "Arcand may be simple, but he woos for you. Woo for him, oh dear wertle, and learn of your bandits sought." He spun around and walked back to the shipwreck.

* * *

"Madness begets madness. Of course another loon has the magic answers to the banditry we seek." Edwin spat out foreign curses.

"He should not have known the things he spouted off," Jaheira said. "I am loath to give weight to his words, yet…" She trailed off, struggling to come to terms with the gnomish enigma.

"No, he shouldn't have," Dynaheir said, her voice a whisper. Zanven turned toward her, but nobody acknowledged her.

They sat where they could in Arcand's abode. Rotting wood proved an uncomfortable chair, made worse by the encroaching ocean. Sogginess clung to everything within the ship. The smell of salt and must clogged the air. Arcand could not have been serious about living in the wreck.

The gnome had invited them in and disappeared, his creaking footsteps the only sign he had not run away in trickery. His voice carried through the ship, songs from his touched mind serenading them. Zanven crossed his arms for a moment before folding them in his lap instead; if he brought less attention to his body's… additions, then maybe he could pretend all was well.

"I admire your patience," Arcand shouted as he returned. "Few stay in my company as long as you have, wertle-woooo."

What a surprise. Few considered the presence of madmen tolerable.

"You've implied you know things we desire," Jaheira said. "Make your point known."

Arcand clapped his hands together. "From three, questions Arcand receives, and to three, answers Arcand gives. The woman of the wild, the witch, and the child blind may speak."

"And why am I spurned? These louts will waste their words." Edwin asked.

"Because, dear wertle, I do not like you. Boohoo, oh woo."

Jaheira drowned out Edwin's complaints. "Fine then. I long for sense. You spoke of bandits, yet had no way of knowing of our group's goals. I would like you to explain yourself and your intuitions. I do not trust the unfinished picture you paint."

"Arcand's madness needs no trust, only ears for this wertle. The world cannot hide from my senses, neither yesterday nor tomorrow. All is today."

"He fancies himself a seer. Wonderful. It is not worth sitting through his idiocy to hear half-baked visions."

Arcand whistled, a sound sharp as any blade. "Doubt is worthless. You will find there are others garbed in red exceeding you in this world. Hush now. Your bandits visited Arcand's home by the sea, a most unruly lot of wertles. Day and night they toiled with no treasure to show."

"And where have they gone?" Jaheira asked.

"The black birds soar above the trees and lakes and the worms that chew the earth." Arcand laughed at Jaheira's groan. "Find the messenger, for he sleeps in the griffin where the morning sings. That is all for you, wertle-woo, wertle-woo. Speak now, fair witch."

"I shall make it quick for thee." Suspicion hung off Dynaheir's words. "I do not doubt thy sight, though thy clarity is another matter. Thou presumeth I seek… god's sin, as thou said?"

"I do not dabble in presumptions, only in shades of how the world is," Arcand said. "Far more than knowledge is your quarry. Others seek it too, though they may not know. Race to unravel the divine string from its spindle. So sayeth the mad Arcand of wertles and woos."

Dynaheir gasped, the faintest intake of breath. Edwin muttered to himself, keeping his voice quiet for once. Dynaheir shushed him. "I may not understand thee… but thou hast mine thanks."

Her voice shook. Odd for Dynaheir to show signs of agitation. Zanven couldn't piece anything of significance from Arcand's ramblings. What did she hear that he didn't?

"Do not fear, girl, Arcand has not forgotten you. I see questions crawling under your skin and much more."

Zanven jumped. "Yes, uh, I… wait! This is not me. I am cursed. I-I am not supposed to be like this." He moved his hands around his body in emphasis.

"He put on this belt and it turned him into a girl," Imoen said, all too happy to speak up for him.

"A wertle but not? Oh woo." Arcand cackled. "Mad I be, but not enough to have seen this curse."

"But you can help, right? You can change me back?"

"No."

_Then what good are you?_

Zanven bowed his head into his hands. "Fine. Great. Go ahead then, explain your nonsense for me too." Blood of misery indeed.

"The wertle is unhappy. Understandable after these troubled times. Strange blood in a family so large, yours two sides of a clashing coin. Ah, but what else can Arcand see? He sees—" Arcand choked and fell to the floor, rolling around in a panic. "He sees himself seen! No, wertle-woo, please, Arcand is mad! He shan't look anymore!"

"W-what? What is wrong? Tell me!" Zanven trembled at the gnome's outburst.

"Good gods, man, get a hold of yourself," Jaheira said.

"Arcand knows no wertles. Away he goes, away from the grinning beast!" Chaos ensued as everybody shuffled out of the flailing gnome's way, footsteps drumming against the wooden floorboards. He ran further into the ship until the snapping of timber cracked the air. He shrieked in a splash of water.

Surprise quieted the group. Straining his ears, Zanven could hear Arcand's hysteria as he swam away. Eventually the splashing stopped.

"I admit, harpy, you've quite the track record with madmen," Edwin said. "Lunatics trail in your wake at every turn. As I've said all along, let us leave this place."

Jaheira's growl was enough to return them to their stunned silence.

* * *

Author's Notes: Lord knows its overdone, but giving the gender bender belt a bit of screen time seemed like a... rite of passage of sorts, I guess. Still remember testing out multiplayer with a buddy of mine as a kid and him giving it to my character. Friends always share cursed items.

I was so excited that I managed two chapters in a month... then took a look at the clock. Missed it by _thaaaaat_ much haha Ah well. Thanks for the views y'all and hope its enjoyable!


	14. Chapter 14

"Dynaheir," Minsc said, drawling out her name to grab her attention, "you told Minsc all was well. Why do you scrunch your face like Boo when he has had too many nuts? Here, look." His hand rose to her face. Boo twitched in his palm, scooting toward her nose.

Dynaheir reared back, her concentration overtaken by indignation. "I do not look like—Minsc, no!" She would not give that observation the light of day; she did not look like an engorged rodent! "Must thou really indulgeth in this notion of Boo's significance?"

"Ah, you are mad. Minsc knows. You are quick to hurt Boo's feelings when you are so." Minsc's tone dropped off, a child scolded.

This man, with his new animal companion—rather, _miniature giant space hamster_—was not the same man she had traveled with at the start of their dajemma. The child-like giant retained his kindness, but his injury robbed him of his capacity to take on the world as a berserker should. Why should it be her job to act as both his charge and ward?

A stab of guilt punctured her: it had been in her name that her friend's mind crumpled. She sighed, rubbing her forehead. "Minsc, I am not mad. I do not mean to… trample upon Boo's feelings." She gulped, wrestling with regret. "Place him in mine hand."

"Ha ha! See, Boo, I told you not to worry."

Dynaheir massaged the hamster with a thumb and placed him on her lap. "Accept mine apologies, Boo." As if in understanding, Boo squeaked in response.

Apologizing to the hamster felt silly; at least, it did until Minsc beamed. His glee was infectious.

"Thou art owed an apology as well. I have been… tense lately."

"What ails you? Is it something Minsc can punch? It's the Red One, isn't it? Give Minsc the word and he will plant a boot to his behind so mighty he'll be flying back home to his nest of evil wizards!"

Edwin would like that, wouldn't he, to be returned to Thay and be away from this strange land? She found herself yearning for home. She had a task to complete in the name of her sisters though. Rashemen would not disappear in her absence.

"No, I do not grant Edwin the pleasure of invading mine thoughts. I'm just feeling pensive."

"It is that old gnome and his mad talk then?" Minsc folded his arms across his chest, staring down at her. "That strange man is nothing. Let us forget his crazy words. He upset Boo, so Minsc is annoyed. If he has upset Dynaheir too, then Minsc shall…"

A ghost of a smile danced across Dynaheir's face. She raised a hand to calm down his rising fury. "It is nothing of that nature. Thou hast no need to hunteth the poor soul down."

Perhaps hunting Arcand down could be a boon. Something had frightened him and had ensnared his fractured mind. Then again maybe not; meeting him would do little to provide context to whatever it was he saw that ran him off.

Prophecies flew through her mind. She knew a string dangled in front of her; Arcand said as much, as well as the Sisters. To grasp it and tug though, that was the task. How did one unravel the machinations of gods?

"The world is ever a puzzle." Dynaheir raised Boo to her face. "Isn't that so, Boo?"

"Boo is always happy to answer questions. You just don't ask many of him." Minsc laughed. Dynaheir set the hamster back on her lap with a twinge of self-consciousness. "That is what we have our dajemma for, no? Minsc is, ah, not… too great with puzzles and riddles, but he knows meeting the world with swords held high gives answers."

"Thou hast the right of it."

Minsc nudged her. "You do not tell me, but I know there is something more to our dajemma. Share it so you do not carry the load alone. Look at Minsc's shoulders, you know he can carry all but the heaviest, and that still!"

Seeing his concern, innocent in its sincerity, Dynaheir felt an urge to explain it all to him. It was beyond him though, more so now with his condition. The Three forbid if he let anything slip to their comrades.

"It is a matter for the Wychlaran, and as such mine alone while we are abroad." She frowned when dejection washed over Minsc. "Do not look that way. Thou may not knoweth, but thou hast carried so much and more already. I am thankful to have thee."

Dynaheir stretched so Boo could scurry back to his owner. Minsc cooed at the hamster, stowing him away. "Minsc is glad to share his dajemma with you and Boo. These lands are strange, but there are monsters to battle, justice to dispense, and comrades to share glory with."

"Aye, Minsc, that there are."

* * *

"Tiax is staring again."

Zanven's stomach turned. "That is not funny, Imoen."

"I'll admit, bit of a low blow, but it is kinda funny."

"What if he was watching you, hmm?"

"Ouch… alright, loosen up. I was only kidding this time. He's walking up ahead of us anyway."

It had taken quite some time to shake off the feeling of worms crawling over his skin the first time she mentioned Tiax's attention, and he squirmed again. As if the belt alone wasn't violation enough. He dug his fingers into the belt and wrenched to no avail; the offending girdle clung to him like a second skin.

"You've been pulling at it all day now. You and I both know it ain't comin' off," Imoen said.

"S-says you." The childish retort provoked a laugh from her and Zanven redoubled his efforts. "Just… come… off!"

"Are you so dense as to not understand the workings behind a curse?" Edwin asked, his voice striking like a whip as he stepped in line by them. "You're a dog scratching at his collar. Quit it before your fingers bleed from futility."

"I think I understand it just fine," Zanven shot back. His voice teetered on the edge. Anger welled up inside his chest. "I've this 'collar,' but I'm not on a leash. We don't need you I hope you know."

Imoen squeezed his shoulder. "Zanven…"

"You'd do well to rein in your attitude. We've proven once how this road ends."

Let the wizard taunt him. He'd probably get bored of it anyway. Zanven shrugged off Imoen and focused on the belt. His anger dissipated as frustration overwhelmed him.

"It is not uncommon for my kind to dabble in curses. (Simple tricks really.)"

"What of it?"

"This inconvenience of yours couldn't possibly be above me."

Zanven stopped fiddling with the belt. Hope blossomed, hiding behind suspicion. "You know how to—"

"Undo it? There are ways, yes. I expect compensation of course. Think on it as we make our way back to Beregost. Your sister glares the dullest of daggers and I need not suffer them. (Nor shall I listen to this offending voice of his any longer.)"

Imoen blew a raspberry as Edwin moved away. "Don't listen to him. Compensation he says!"

Zanven scratched his chin. What would the man ask for to deal with the curse? It couldn't be much, not if he said it was simple.

"Tymora come down and dump her coins on ya, you're not really considering his help?" A dismissal rumbled out of her throat. "There's so many better ways to fix this… sure, I can't exactly name 'em, but I'm sure they're there!"

"It can't hurt to hear him out…" Zanven whispered more to himself, wrestling with the idea.

"Nope. Nu uh. No. I've seen him help you once already and I don't want to see it again." Imoen threw an arm around him and laid her head on his shoulder. "Besides… Dynaheir knows a thing or two about magic. Ask her for help." The cheekiness oozing from her words made him uncomfortable.

"I am sure she will help."

"Did'ja ask her? She go and say it herself?"

"Well, no… but I mean, she'll help. Why wouldn't she?"

"Tad bit presumptive there, don'tcha think? Damsel in distress or not, someone's forgetting their manners. You'll ask her right and proper, you will."

Zanven recognized that teasing tone. It was a harbinger of awful things to come. That tone preceded headaches and humiliation.

* * *

Dynaheir turned at the sound of giggling. She raised an eyebrow as Imoen dragged Zanven with her. He did not share his sister's joy.

"How's it going? Nice day and all," Imoen said. The girl elbowed her brother and whispered to him. "Go on now. Ain't doing yourself any favors by being rude."

"I am not being rude!" Zanven whispered back. He stiffened as he regarded Dynaheir, fingers tapping against his staff as they walked. "I-it's nice without the rain…"

"So it is," Dynaheir said. She watched them from the side, eyes narrowed. Something was up between them. Silence stretched on as she tried to make sense of their antics.

Imoen skipped away with a whistle, and Zanven opened his mouth before it fell into a grimace. "Gods, Imoen."

"Thou seemeth in better spirits." Dynaheir's lips quirked up. "Thy condition grates less on thee today?"

"I am as well as I can be." Distress flickered across his face, and he spoke low. "I sound like a mewling kitten…"

Dynaheir hid a smile behind her hand on instinct. Perhaps she had been too quick to proclaim him a wolf. "Aye, though 'tis as much thine attitude as it is thy tone."

Zanven's mouth twitched. There it was: the struggle. An innocuous comment with just a hint of jest. Already he turned away, fretting for an escape route. Quicker this time.

"Thou art close to Imoen to let her treat thee so."

"She's an unbearable monster." The monster in question coughed from nearby. Zanven spoke louder, his posture easing as he tore into her. "Absolutely obnoxious. An intolerable little beast. Annoying and—"

"Alright, alright. I think she understands." Dynaheir looked to Imoen, who pointed at herself and mouthed, 'Who, me?' The girl flashed a smile and Dynaheir shook her head. "I assume there is a reason she paraded thee to mine side? Not that one is necessary. The long hours of the road are done away with idle chatter, and I welcome it."

"Ah, well… I did not intend, uh, rather, that is to say…"

Dynaheir feigned anger. "Thou wouldst spurn friendly conversation? I am wounded! I am not so longwinded, I think, to provide drab chit chat."

"No! No, not at all. That's not it." The slightest threat of offense had Zanven swimming in a sea of worry. "I do have a reason! I d-don't need one, like you said… it was Imoen's idea."

"Let's hear it then, lest thou bursteth."

Zanven took a breath. "I need help. With this." He frowned and gestured to himself. "You know spellcraft. You can change me back, right?" Imoen cheered, and Zanven's frown deepened.

He painted a pitiful picture. The transformation left him in clothes too big, his sleeves swallowing his arms and his robe cinched at the waist to keep him from tripping. Not boasting height or bulk to begin with, the belt's magic turned him into a delicate thing. A far cry from Rashemi stock; no, man or woman, he'd be out of place in Rashemen. Dynaheir suppressed a chuckle to spare his feelings.

"Curses of more mundane nature tend to stray away from permanency. I confess, I promise thee nothing. I do not know if it is within mine knowledge to return thee to thy rightful state," Dynaheir said. Zanven slumped and she felt a throb of empathy. "Mind thee, that is not to say thou canst not be changed back."

"We don't know that." He groaned as if his world had ended. A halo glimmered behind his head, a dull shine mirroring his mood. Dynaheir regarded it with curiosity, a brow raised.

"We also don't know the converse. Let us reach Beregost before thou resigneth thyself to womanhood."

"By the time we get there Imoen will have done so for me." Zanven shuddered. "I'm sure she's already imagined all sorts of clothes she wants to force me into."

"Truly the worst." Such pessimism over something so minor! "Thy predicament does warrant a change of attire for comfort. Thou wouldst let fashion be the death of thee?"

"I'd just rather this be done with."

There was that frown again, almost a permanent fixture at times. That attitude would do more harm than good. Let despair be reserved for darker times.

"Thou hast quite the sunny disposition. 'Twould be a shame to let it be without even brighter attire."

Zanven's brow furrowed. Suspicion guided his words. "What do you mean?"

"This curse has left a gift of sorts in thy lap." Dynaheir kept her voice even-keeled as mirth threatened to break loose. "Reinvent thyself, if only temporarily. Thy form has charm to it. With the right complements thou canst craft a different identity. Make confusion for thy hunters."

"Oh no." His mouth slowly widened as realization set in. "Not you too. Y-you and her b-both. Imoen put you up to this, didn't she?"

A chuckle spilled out from Dynaheir's lips. "Nothing so malicious. Thou graspeth at conspiracies. I merely suggest taking advantage of what thou hast, no matter how thee came about it. Thy blindness canst not be hidden, but this bounty of thine speaks of a different character." She tapped a finger against her chin. "Admittedly, I am ignorant of the popular styles Heartlanders wear."

Far too much flowing silk and jewelry. All to please, but no function. What good was it compared to the wool and furs of her homeland? Even cotton served a better purpose than what the nobility lavished themselves with.

"Embrace it. There is more excitement to it than thou giveth credit."

"Oh sure, for who?" Zanven shook his head, tresses bouncing side to side. "I might as well have Peri read me _Volo's Guide to Being a Woman_… No, Imoen, that is absolutely _not_ a real thing!"

* * *

"Is it not so bad, Master. You look fine."

"Everyone has said so, so it must be true." Grumpiness and embarrassment mixed together, spoiling Zanven's mood. As if they'd pick out clothes for him and tell him they were awful. No, not when Imoen could let him wear something terrible and be none the wiser.

He was thankful his new clothes fit right. The skirt reached down past his knees, leaving his legs bare, and he no longer slipped in boots too big. At least the shirt held some normalcy, the long sleeves as loose as his robes were. He tugged at the shawl hanging around his shoulders, pulling it up; he wouldn't admit it, but at least he felt some security in attempting to hide beneath it.

"Where are you Edwin…"

"Right behind you." Zanven jumped at Edwin's voice. "I see patience is as foreign a concept to you as controlling magic. It is a feat that your lizard understood my directions to this inn." Edwin ignored Peri's cry of disapproval, pushing through the door.

Zanven followed him around the sea of tables in the main room until they found their own. "I don't see why we couldn't have stayed at Feldepost's."

"Because, while I may detest the _jovial _atmosphere of this establishment," Edwin grunted at the wave of laughter that rang through the building, "I do prefer to keep an air of privacy from our beloved companions. Is it not the same for you, or would they look highly upon you meeting with the boogieman they make me out to be?"

"I, well, yes. I guess that makes sense." There was a clandestine air about this thing. The fact he was able to get Imoen to leave him alone proved perhaps he had some shred of luck left. "It's not as if we're doing anything wrong though." That didn't mean he couldn't shake his unease; the man had tossed a fireball at him after all.

"Ha! Every breath I take is villainous to that witch and her ape. No doubt she's peddled lies to besmirch my standing amongst this group of yours."

Zanven leaned his staff against the table and wrung his hands together. Best make it quick and get to the meat of it. "So… this curse?"

"Ah, yes. The curse of womanhood. (As if I'd ever allow myself to fall to such a thing.)" Edwin let out a sharp 'hmm.' Zanven felt like an animal in a zoo under Edwin's study. "My aid comes with terms that will be met."

"And what if I deem them unfair?"

"Then I imagine you will run along and play princess for the rest of your life. (Is that not what peasant girls aspire to be?)"

Zanven balled his fists. He was quickly feeling there was nothing to gain from this. "I'm sure Dynaheir is more than happy to help me if you won't!"

"Then why is it you sit here in front of me? You spent time shopping with her and thought naught to ask for her help then? No, you desire a real wizard's finesse, and you're smart enough to at least recognize that."

Zanven gulped. The man zeroed in on his doubts with the precision of a marksman's arrow. Dynaheir had not given him a clear answer in spite of her good intentions. For all his arrogance though Edwin's confidence never swayed.

"That look validates my presumption. Your concerns over fairness mean little to me. I've no need to bargain when you stand beneath me in our coming deal."

"Fine. What do you want?" Zanven crossed his arms, cursing himself for feeling small in Edwin's presence. "I don't have money to offer or valuables if that's what you want."

Edwin laughed, condescension rolling off every cackle. "Your naiveté is astounding. You'd come to the table with nothing to offer and expect a fair deal? Ludicrous. Luckily for you," he paused with a flair of drama, "avarice is reserved for lesser men than me."

Zanven shrank in his seat. Dynaheir had called him a wolf, but he felt the comparison was off. Not when he felt the real wolf sat in front of him. "What then?"

"No, my vice is far more intellectual. I desire from you what you danced around before. You will learn"—Zanven tensed—"information grants real power. Answer my questions and I will look into this curse."

"I will answer what I can…" The concession left him hollow.

"(What he can. Pfah… it'll do.) Your magic, as reckless as it is, intrigues me. You sorcerers tap into the Weave without earning its power. None of the learning, none of the studying. What squeezed blood from your useless eyes? What of your heritage allows you to heal through magical fire?"

"I don't know."

"Enjoy that belt then." Edwin pushed against the table and his chair dragged against the floor.

"Wait! It's just… it's hard to say. It's in my blood, right? My father said… he said I was born from the Weave and left it at that."

Edwin sighed and sat back down. "Then it is obvious your sire cared little for understanding his son. (Heh, I share something in common with him.) All he chose to tell you was the obvious. What of your mother, of your family and its history? Sorcery lies in one's lineage."

A lump formed in Zanven's throat. He fought against it; he wouldn't shed a tear in front of Edwin. "I never knew her. All I had was my father and Imoen and Candlekeep."

"That is disappointing. Sorcerers have descended from dragons, from the Hells and Heavens, from gods…" Edwin paused and uttered a word in his language. Interest rose in his voice as he let loose a stream in his native tongue. "Perhaps your bloodline can be parsed after all. (Those fools with their temples and pyramids… to think, they've just helped me.)"

Zanven leaned forward. "What do you mean? What do you know?"

Edwin clicked his tongue. "No. For now the questions are mine to ask. Now then, a second question. Why is a boy from Candlekeep part of this bandit goose chase? Odd you'd call such a place home in the first place."

He shouldn't have let his home slip. All it took was for Edwin to find a bounty notice for him to unravel everything.

"My father was a monk." A simple enough lie, and one Edwin couldn't really contest; not entirely untrue either with Gorion's habits. "He raised me as his own there."

"Not your father by blood then, hmm?"

"Well, yes." _Quit spilling everything, you dolt! _Zanven breathed in and out. "We traveled to meet friends of his, Jaheira and Khalid. We had troubles on the road and he was… he is gone."

"Ah. So the stutterer and his ball and chain co-opted your vengeance."

"That's, uh, it. Yes."

Edwin sighed, the answer placating him. Half-truths seemed to be working. "I had expected more than a lost lamb playing at revenge, but then again this barbarous region fails time and time again at enforcing its laws. (Uncultured vigilantism. Entirely unheard of in Thay.)"

"So that's it then? I answered your questions?"

"Yes, yes. So you did. I shall look into your predicament. Do not pester me and prove yourself to show an aptitude for listening when I ask about the belt and its curse and I will—" A coughing fit cut his words short. "(Her! Why is _she_ here!? She should not be here!)"

"Why is who here?"

"Edwin, is that you?" It was a woman, youthful words forming her query. "I had thought you gone… but to find you here?"

Edwin scrambled from the table, his chair flying to the floor. He fled the building in a flurry of colorful words. Zanven was left sitting in confusion at the man's exit.

"Excuse me," the woman said, tapping Zanven's shoulder. "Might I have a bit of your time? Please?"

* * *

This woman had to be the nicest assassin had she any thoughts of acting on his bounty. A nice change of pace if that were the case; no ambush, no creepiness. Just pleasant conversation before being struck down.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

Zanven's thoughts fled, leaving him feeling sheepish. Assassins weren't nice and to think such of her was silly. He waved away her concern to regain his composure. "So you said you know him? Edwin that is?"

That seemed implausible, even if they were just acquaintances. In short time he could tell they were night and day, her kindness a stark contrast to his arrogance. Then again, he was the opposite of most people; hardly the friendly material this woman claimed him to be.

"Well, yes. Truth be told, it's a bit of a tale to tell." She chuckled, a soft sound. "Two really, if I had the time."

"Are you friends then?" If she said yes, she had to be lying. Edwin didn't allow himself such trivial things. "Family… or lov—"

"No! No, not… quite. A friend. Yes. Let's settle on that."

Zanven raised a brow. "You're not Thayvian."

"I'm no less his friend. That's not quite fair, you know. Thayvians have friends as much as Heartlanders or Rashemi or anybody else." Zanven offered a shrug in response. "He has his layers, but if you peel them back he's a bit better."

"How do you know each other then? He didn't seem keen on meeting you." He knew it wasn't fear that sent Edwin flying; however something had made him uncomfortable enough to flee.

"He does have many layers I suppose." She sighed. "We had traveled together a time ago, until he left without a word. I had only meant to ask why. Perhaps another place, another time..." She trailed off with an air of wistfulness.

"How can you stand him?"

"Well, for starters I do a little more than tolerate him." She chided him, a playful tone. "People like being respected and listened to. It's just a matter of listening a little longer with him… and developing a thick skin for his attitude.

"As if he grants others the same courtesy." Her ways of handling the wizard sounded improbable at best. "Are you sure you've got the right guy?"

"Penchant for red—I mean _really_ red—robes, quite the accent when he's flustered, mutters under his breath as if the world is deaf… I could go on even further." Zanven knew she was grinning. "How about yourself? No offense, but you don't seem like the type of girl he associates with."

"I'm not a, ahem, uh, I'm not…" Zanven tugged at his shawl to cover his cheeks.

_'I'm not a girl! It's just a magical belt!'_ Few quicker paths to have someone think you're crazy than to shout that to a stranger.

"Not what? Oh. Oh! No! I didn't mean to suggest that—I mean, I'm sure Edwin associates with interesting… sorts of… women." Dejection dragged on her words. "Let me try again. You must have an interesting reason for knowing him too, right?"

"He's helping me with a problem of mine." The belt and the bandits, though Edwin's help with both came with protest. "Not that he is very forthcoming with his aid."

"Ah, you too? He can be quite the closed book, but aren't they all until you pull them off the shelf?"

* * *

The flapping of wings signaled Peri's return. "You don't see anybody do you?" Zanven flexed his fingers, waiting on his familiar's answer.

"Nope. It's safe."

Zanven heaved a sigh. He didn't want to explain his meeting with anybody. He pushed the door open into Feldepost's. The smell of food and alcohol greeted him; even the crowd noise provoked a sense of familiarity. It wasn't the perfect place, but the inn started taking on a quality of comfort for all their times coming and going. Far from a second home but it was something.

"Help me find Edwin."

"Do we have to talk to him again? I don't like him very much, Master. Not at all."

_Nobody does. Except for that woman who had so much to say about him._ Questions bubbled in Zanven's mind from the encounter.

"I only wish to ask about a few more things. I don't much want to talk to him either."

It wouldn't take much more than a few minutes. Odds are anyway the man would rebuff his efforts. Already he could hear the man's words shoving him away: "Poke your nose elsewhere. My business is none of your concern!"

Zanven's hand slid across the banister as he walked upstairs. He moved aside as footfalls worked their way down past him. The person stopped by him though instead of continuing to the main room below. "Well look at you."

"Pardon?" Zanven asked. The man reeked of alcohol and his voice wobbled.

"I said," he hiccupped, "look at you. Such radiant skin, little cherub." Zanven bristled at the man's touch and brushed away his hand. The man laughed. "Come now, don't be like that! 'Twas a compliment."

Zanven backed up a step and the man followed him. Peri went rigid on his shoulder, working up a growl. "I don't need your compliments."

"Nobody needs compliments, but it's common courtesy to show some thanks for them. Isn't that right, angel dearest?" The man reached for Zanven's hair, only pulling back at the snap of Peri's teeth. "Tell your lizard to shove off."

"You shove off," Peri said. "Master wants nothing from you so leave us alone."

The man grumbled and relented. "Fine. Let's try another angle." He fumbled for something and there was a jingle of coins. "How much, eh? I'm rather a generous sort. Make good coin and all I do is run letters from one end of the Heartlands to the other."

Zanven opened his mouth. Disgust, confusion, and embarrassment tumbled over one another. "N-no! Absolutely not! I d-don't want your coin. Step aside and leave me be." His voice betrayed him again, his anger squeaking instead of roaring. He moved to walk past the man, but an arm blocked his path.

"Look here. I didn't trek down to Amn to hear that mutt bastard's groveling and through the wilderness for pirate lies to come back and have every woman reject me. Hells, you can't even see my face like the rest of those harlots!" He snatched Zanven's wrist and pulled him upstairs. "I tried nice, I tried money, so now I'm just taking!"

"Let go of me!" Zanven struggled against the man, Peri fluttering around them to fend off the unwelcome advance. "Leave me alone! Let—" A hand pressed against his mouth.

"Nice and easy, gal." Worry strained his whisper. "Can't be making a scene now." He strong-armed Zanven up the stairs and down the hall. "Agh, piss off you scaly gnat!" Magic hummed in the air with a crack. Peri let out a whine and hit the ground.

"Do me this small favor and spread 'em and everything'll be golden. Look, I'm a tad bit frustrated here. I work too much, my comrades are morons, and I've a face that can scare off an ogre, though aren't we lucky you wouldn't know?"

Zanven bit down on his hand and the man let go of his mouth. "There are laws! Decency! Morals!"

The man stifled a laugh. "Don't much follow laws. Make a living off doing so. I've found decency is often optional. As for my morals, they're looser than a Calimite whore in the Undercellar." He wrapped his arms around Zanven. "Just… play… along, damn it!"

A door nearby slammed open, smashing against the wall. "This racket is maddening! Tiax demands you peasants…" The gnome quieted down, calm before the storm. "You…"

"What? But how? Those idiots lied to me!"

"The only lies are yours. Tiax will rip out your tongue!"

Zanven bucked against the man's hold and reached out to the Weave. It answered with a surge of electricity, jumping from his fingers to the man's skin. The man grunted in pain and released Zanven. "Damn fools! I'll blast you both to kingdom come. Won't be nothing left of you to bury when I'm through!"

Zanven scrambled for the stairs. Pain bloomed at his side and he fell to the floor. His body locked up, spasming from the shock flowing through his body.

"Now that's real electricity!" the man taunted. "As for you, half-man—oof!"

"Tiax's revenge calls down the fury of his ascendancy! Raaagh!" Tiax's feet slapped against the ground as he ran and the two collapsed. They rolled across the floor, fists flying and legs kicking. "Monkey spanker!"

"Bearded rat!"

"Silver-tongued beguiler!"

"Cyricist loon!"

"Heretic!"

"Knee biter!"

Zanven dragged himself away and climbed to his feet. Their tussle brought them closer to him and they thumped down the stairs, insults flying in between cries of pain. Tentative steps brought him to the top of the stairs and he sat down. He turned when there was a tug at his sleeve.

"Master," Peri croaked, "are you alright?"

"As well as you are." His chest tightened as a coughing fit overwhelmed him. "This wasn't how the day was supposed to go…"

Peri climbed onto his lap. "Can we stay up here?"

"Oh yes. Absolutely"

It didn't take long for chaos to erupt downstairs in the main room. The two men's feud kept on going, including the patrons below unfortunate to be caught in its path. Shouts went up, plates clattered off tables, and wooden chairs snapped.

The bartender's voice yelled over the noise. "I remember you! You've gone and done it now, gnome!"

Zanven had no intentions of going back downstairs. Not while that mess swallowed up what it could in its wake.

* * *

Had she been gone that long for everything to go up in flames?

Imoen stood in the doorway of Feldepost's Inn as people pushed past her to leave. She gawked, eyes wide and scanning the bedlam. Unbelievable.

Furniture was upturned. People lay moaning on the floor covered in ale and food. Broken plates littered the ground. At the center of the mess was a host of Flaming Fist officers separating a taller and shorter man while the bartender's explosive anger berated them.

She walked inside, careful to avoid stepping on anybody or anything. She recognized one of the Fist officers by her dark hair wound up in a tight braid. Officer Vai held her helmet in one hand while her other gestured around the room in futility.

"All this… two men. I've seen tavern brawls before, but this…" Her voice, normally hard as steel, had lost its edge in the face of the madness around them. She turned to Imoen, helplessness etched onto her face; Imoen resisted the urge to grin.

"Heya. Been a while. We're still alive!"

Officer Vai sighed. "I remember you. That is… that is good. Everything here? Not so."

"Yeesh. No kidding." A pang of worry washed over her. Zanven didn't appear to be anywhere, though nobody else seemed to be around either. Maybe that was a good thing? "So who started this lovely little mess?"

"We managed to separate the offenders and those who joined in. These two set everything in motion. Both of them refused to talk."

Imoen did a double take. "You have got to be kidding me. Tiax! What did you do?!"

"You know him?"

"I do… He's my gnome alright…"

* * *

Author's Notes: I quite enjoyed this one. Probably the first time I really scrapped a considerable amount of stuff while writing it up and redoing it too. Was a bit different than my usual 'flying by the seat of my pants' style where it just spurts out in bursts. Felt the way I was taking it before reworking it was a tad too serious for my liking so I had to lighten things up. Managed to get it out in far less than a month too, so woo! As always with the 'appearances', I can only hope I did 'em justice haha

Thank you for any and all views and reviews, I appreciate it! Y'all the real mvps.


	15. Chapter 15

Imoen flopped onto her bed, bouncing onto her side to look at Zanven. He sat cross-legged on the other bed with a book splayed in front of him. Peri perched on his lap, head turning side to side as he read aloud.

"You've been a ghost since we were out at the shops. You don't mean to tell me you've been sitting in this room the whole time since then? There's no way you missed all the action downstairs!"

She knew he hadn't. _Go on. Lie to me. I'll catch you the moment you spit it out!_

"Not exactly." He shifted to put the book away, letting Peri hop onto his pillow. "I just haven't been out as much as you have, and I certainly wouldn't have anything to do with some bar fight."

Imoen leveled a stare at him. He answered as if them not being around each other for the rest of the day was normal. "You weren't here when I checked earlier. Dynaheir didn't know where you were either."

Zanven shrugged. "So what? I'm here now. That good enough?"

Had she the chance to ask before they disappeared for… whatever it was they always did in Beregost, she would have asked Khalid or Jaheira about Zanven. Minsc hadn't known, what with being Dynaheir's second shadow. Tiax wouldn't have answered had she asked; for the best to avoid conversation with him.

"You can't just go off on your own. Not with… you know?" Great. Now _she_ sounded like Jaheira. "Could've asked me to tag along."

"Stop worrying. It doesn't matter."

He told her to stop worrying? Oh, wasn't that rich.

"It matters just a little bit, don'tcha think? I'd wager maybe just a smidgen." Imoen sat up, swinging her legs off the side of the bed. "So what were you doing then wherever you were?"

There was something funny in the way Zanven sat straighter. He clasped his hands together. "Nothing exciting."

"Oh. Well then. I'm definitely uninterested now." She kept her voice deadpan before breaking. "Come on! Quit being so secretive!"

"What about that woman, Master?" Peri asked. Zanven slapped at the fairy dragon, but Peri rolled away.

"Woman?" Imoen asked. "Is that really what this is all about? Jeez, no need to hide that from me. You've been cooped up in the library for so long and now there's loads of women around. Get that belt off and you're good to go. I mean, I understand. Had you seen one of the blacksmith boys at Thunderhammer's—"

"What? No! That is not at all right!"

"You wanted to fix your curse." Peri said. The familiar looked to her with a wink; atta boy, that was her fairy dragon! "You know, with—" Zanven gripped the fairy dragon's snout.

"With who?" She ran through the group in her mind again, knowing everybody was accounted for… except for one. "Wait a minute. I told you no! Not him!"

Zanven cracked, attitude flaring up. "He said he knows how to make things right! I don't have to like him for him to do that."

"What about Dynaheir? She said she'd help you figure it out!"

"I don't think she knows how to help me… but Edwin said he knows!"

"And if I told you I was some long lost elven princess would you believe me?"

"That's not even close to mattering."

Imoen crossed her arms. "What did Edwin say then? Saying he knows is different from saying he'll reverse it."

A scowl crossed Zanven's face. His petulance melted away into an uneasy frown. "Well, he didn't go into specifics."

"Ah ha! I told you not to bother with him. What'd he make you do just to hear him say some wishy washy words?"

Zanven brought a hand to his head to run his fingers through his hair. He stopped, his face screwing up. "He asked me a few questions. Simple as that."

"Questions? What'd he ask?"

"Imoen, please. You're really going to interrogate me over this?" Zanven pointed at his belt. "This should be stuck on you, not me!"

"He doesn't need to know anything about you." Shouldn't have ever freaked and dragged Edwin to help with Zanven in the first place. Bad enough he saw whatever that crazy side of Zanven was, much less trying to paint a fuller pictures with his prodding. "Can't talk to him no more. I forbid it."

"You are not the boss of me. Not as kids and not now."

Imoen hopped to her feet and stomped over to his side of the room. She hadn't crossed halfway before he threw up his arms, for all the good it did him; he had spent years losing this same fight. She twisted an arm behind his back and held him still. Peri moved out of the corner of her eye, making her wonder if the familiar would come to his master's aid; instead he yawned and curled up on himself.

"I'll spill the beans about you and him!"

"Don't… you… dare!"

A rap at the door halted their fight. It swung open from a light push. Khalid stood in the doorway, brow furrowed. He cocked his head with a queer look. "I do not m-mean to intrude…"

Zanven tried to speak but Imoen pushed his face into the bed. "All's fine, Khalid! What, you never had siblings? Just a good, healthy squabble."

Khalid shook his head, unable to hide a grin. "I have a f-few. I wish to have a word with you two when you are… not busy. I shall wait d-downstairs. Remember, Imoen, mercy shows one's true c-colors."

"Shame that I'm the blackest of the black!"

Khalid shut the door with a chuckle.

* * *

Khalid kept up a brisk pace. "I was surprised when a Flaming F-Fist came in asking for you. Not quite as much when I learned why."

"Can't we just let him stay behind bars? Just a little longer at least?" Imoen asked.

"W-well, he's less d-destructive inside, I admit… though p-perhaps it's best we keep him under our watch."

"He asked for me specifically?" Zanven asked.

Khalid opened up the jail door and they marched in. Zanven flinched, his skin prickling. Something seemed familiar about the building. He rubbed at his arms.

A string of insults bombarded their ears and a woman sighed. "Imoen and Zanven, I presume? Yes, I remember you two, although I had thought..."

"You're not crazy. That's still Zanven behind the charming princess he is now," Imoen said. Zanven clenched his teeth, his face flaming. "Magical belt. Poor choices. Never you mind though, officer!"

"How peculiar." The mercenary didn't even bother with questioning the oddity. "And you are?"

"Khalid. I am a friend of theirs."

"Don't mind him either. He's one of the friends we talked about, y'know, at the Friendly Arm Inn, remember?" Imoen said. "You're lookin' real down today, officer."

"You'd want to shear off your ears too if you were stuck with these miscreants." Officer Vai said, resignation spilling from her lips. Another round of arguing went off from within the cells.

"Charlatan! Spew not your garbage into Tiax's ears."

"Come a tad closer and I'll rip them right off your lumpy head!"

"Lumpy? Cover your face, leper, before Tiax's eyes burn."

Officer Vai whirled on the prisoners, voice sharper than any blade. "_Shut it before I crack your skulls myself!" _She let out another breath to calm herself. "Now then, Tiax, your… _servants_ are here to clear your name."

Tiax laughed. "And where are yours, Tranzig? Ah, that is right. Tiax dealt with their traitorous heresy."

"Tranzig? I remember that name." An edge worked its way into Khalid's voice. "Let us be quick about freeing Tiax. Jaheira must hear of this."

"I've half a mind to throw the gnome out just to be done with him, but the law's the law." Officer Vai said. "He tells me he was provoked and fought in self-defense. Particularly on your behalf, Zanven."

"Yes. Tiax stepped in to protect his most promising minion. Speak up and tell her of Tiax's graciousness to the cogs in his ascension."

"Oh? I don't remember being told this." Imoen said. She elbowed Zanven in the side. "Nothing at all to do with the bar fight, huh? Riiight."

Zanven gulped. He could have done with that bit of information not gracing Imoen's ears. "I had been walking upstairs to my room when he came at me. Tiax defended me, wrestling Tranzig down the steps and into the main room. He ignored my protests and tried to force me into his room until Tiax intervened."

Tranzig snorted. "Yes, trust this crazed fool and his hussy over me. They lie to bury my innocence."

Zanven bristled. "You casted a spell against me!"

"Peace, the lot of you," Officer Vai said. Her patience had long since withered away. "Accusations of assault, arcane or otherwise, and attempted kidnapping are not thrown around lightly. If you can vouch for him, he's free to go. Any funny business from him will be on your name though."

Keys rattled, seeing to Tiax's renewed freedom. "Gaze upon Tiax, you rotten dog. You will languish in here while the world submits to him!" Tranzig grunted and spat on the floor.

Zanven tensed when Tiax embraced him. "Tiax finds it in him to grant you a special status amongst his retinue. You will be allowed to sit at his feet when divinity dances between his fingers."

"I, ah, thanks… I can't wait." Zanven peeled the gnome off of him. His arms tingled with more intensity. His head throbbed as if under a stream of hammer blows. He leaned against the wall, finding the act of staying upright difficult.

He made out the echoes of concern from the others, but their words melted away. A frantic voice babbled over them. It sobbed in his ears. His knees buckled when it screamed; only the dying wailed like that.

"Tiax is not surprised. You are overcome with gratitude for your future god-king."

Tiax touched him and the screaming grew louder. Zanven pulled away. He pushed past his comrades and stumbled out of the jail. The screaming halted. It was just his own thoughts in his head. He breathed deeply, adjusting to the calm.

"What was that about?" Imoen rushed after him. "Look at you! You're shaking and sweating like you've seen a ghost."

"I just feel a little ill… I'd like to go back. I think I'm done here."

"Oh… um, sure. I'll go with ya. Let me tell Khalid."

What illness forced death screams into one's head? Nothing should have been familiar about that building. Or the scream. He shifted his feet, waiting for Imoen. He was not going back in there.

* * *

Some rest was the answer, thankfully nightmare free. Zanven yawned. Perhaps it had been too much rest. The sun's heat trickled through the window, forcing him to throw off his blanket. He didn't hear Imoen shuffling about, so she must've woken up already. If nobody had dragged him out of bed, then it was bound to be another day in town.

He went through the usual motions and left the room with Peri in tow. Best to see where everybody else was for the day. He made it to the stairs before a hiss drew his attention.

"(I had not thought he would ever awake.) I would have a word with you."

"Right now?" He had not envisioned his first order of business for the day involving Edwin. "Can we talk later?"

"We could, but we won't. No, I'll not wait on you any longer." Edwin fell in step with him and they descended the stairs. "I had thought news of your condition might excite you."

Zanven gripped Edwin's arm. "You know something already?" Hope leaped from his throat. It had only been a day's time and the wizard figured out the curse? He cherished the thought as they found a table.

Edwin wrenched his arm away and clicked his tongue. "It was only a matter of looking into it."

"So what do we do? What do I do? What do you need—"

"Stop!" Irritation flared from the command. "I shall tell you what you need to know when you tell me what I want to know."

"What? Like something about the belt?"

"In due time, when I am ready. However, I decided our deal requires an overhaul. My help is worth far more than a couple of questions."

"But I thought I had answered your questions already. You can't just change everything up now! You said you'd help me."

He could hear Imoen's 'I told you so,' for putting trust in the wizard; he could also feel her smacking him upside the head for disobeying her.

"I do not need to. Need I remind you of your distinct lack of bargaining power?" Edwin's fingers tapped against the table, their _click-clack _chipping away Zanven's hope.

Zanven buried his head in his hands. "This isn't fair. You led me on!"

"I made no promises. It was also quite clear that I care not for your fantasies of what constitutes fairness. Now if you are finished wallowing in pity, I will expand upon my demands."

Demands? Of course he had demands. Deals usually implied some sort of compromise. If this deal of Edwin's signaled anything, the wizard's dealings took far more than they gave.

"Fine! What is it now?"

"(The ungrateful, little... to show such attitude!) After our… prior engagement, I am intrigued by your _talents_." Edwin spared no disdain as he spoke. "It is no question that I am your better at wielding the Weave, no matter whatever innate connection you tap into. There is something behind your clumsy control though. To fully understand this curse I wish to understand you—specifically your sorcery."

"Studying me, right? Like you said?" Zanven pressed the fingers of one hand against his palm. The urge to will forth magic tempted him; he could _feel_ the Weave, not just study it. He barked out a laugh. "Am I a student of yours now?"

"Don't let any misconceptions run through your head. This is no tutelage. (As if he has the backbone to study under a Red Wizard.) You are an irregularity that I would be a fool to ignore, and I desire to satiate my curiosity."

"And if I accept, _then_ will you figure this out?" Zanven pointed at his belt, a frown dominating his face. Was this to be another trick?

"Yes. If it soothes your fragile sense of security, then consider it a promise. Shall we extend our pinkies out before you cry foul?"

"Just… tell me what you know."

"Very well, though you will give me your time later when I ask for it." Edwin sighed. "It is a minor transmutation infused within the belt. One puts it on and it sets off its farce of a spell."

Truly a bastion of intellect to have figured that out. "What else is there? I think I worked that much out already."

"(The dolt! I am setting up a foundation to explain from.) You have whined and cried enough to prove that true. Notice I said it was a _minor_ spell. There are far more harmful spells capable of altering one's body than attacking one's sex. This was meant to be an inconvenience for the ignorant."

Zanven's leg bounced under the table; even Peri sensed his anxiety, claws digging into his neck as he curled around him. "So then it should be an easy enough fix?"

"That is the assumption. How long did its magic take to affect you? Explain to me what it felt like to have your body shift—make that face again and I shall leave you in this cage of womanhood! Do not think my queries have no substance. If that were the case I'd not waste my time with you."

Zanven leaned back, recollecting the wave of magic when he donned the belt. Magic working from within flowed on command, yet never a beast tamed; fiery and forceful, calling upon the surges turned his blood hot. The belt's intrusive curse lacked that intensity, numbing in its transformation. It's magic was not alive.

"I put it on and nothing happened. Figured Imoen was lying like usual until it acted up. It chilled me, as if I jumped into a tub of cold water, and I couldn't breathe. I felt like something was tugging me this way and that... and then it stopped."

"Unsurprising." Edwin's fingers continued to drum on the table. "It fought against the magic inside you so that explains the discomfort. (Disappointing. What weak blood to cave in to a cantrip.) If it fought once, then your body would fight again to return itself to its proper self."

"I don't understand." Wasn't he already fighting it for every moment the belt remained around his waist? Desire alone didn't fix him.

"The belt is not permanent, as is common for magically altered clothing," Edwin said, his tone slowing as if talking to a child. "The belt is suppressing your natural form. Your body fights a losing battle so remains in this forced condition. Now say a weight tips the scale in your favor?"

Zanven put up his hands. The gesture elicited a grunt from Edwin.

"(What good was Candlekeep to this boy?) Your body needs a push to overthrow the belt's magic."

"You can do that then, right?" Zanven tried to temper his excitement; best not sound too desperate for the man's help. "I mean, what can provide this push that I'm missing?"

"A day's time is not enough to deal with your problem, though it was simple enough to deduce the belt's inner workings. If exercising patience is within your capability, I shall be able to procure the push you require."

More waiting. Wonderful.

"You sound like you know a lot about transmutations."

"It is among the schools I have knowledge of." Edwin's voice shifted, rearing back on itself. His confidence wasn't shaken, but something was lacking. "As I said it is a matter of procuring what is needed to throw off this magical binding of yours."

Zanven tugged at his waist, a new habit he couldn't shake. He sighed; no matter how he lodged his fingers underneath the belt, it refused to move. He could feel Edwin watching him. "What does that involve exactly?"

"I wave a wand, your belt falls off, and you stop crying." Ridicule hid in Edwin's deadpan words. "(Merely transmutations. If that fool girl elfling can command them, then so can I.)"

"Is this... another person you know?"

"Never you mind! (Must he know every soul I've crossed paths with?)" Edwin drew in a breath, banishing away the outburst. "You and this belt must be altered to undo the curse. You would not understand, so I shall avoid the details, but magic is a process. I've tamed it before and I shall again."

A mocking laugh provoked a grunt from Edwin. "As if the Hidden One's boon can be tamed, much less by thee of all people."

Zanven froze. How much of their conversation had Dynaheir heard? He could feel her leaning on the back of his chair. She laid a hand on his shoulder. Every bit of him prayed she had heard nothing.

"A pet name for your skills of the arcane, I presume? Hiding your inferiority is almost admirable."

"Thou truly woundeth me, Edwin." Dynaheir's tone treaded a fine line between anger and sarcasm. "I am going to steal away Zanven and leave thee to thy solitude."

Edwin laughed, contempt spilling forth. "He's not the first your kind have stolen. Do take care around her, Zanven. Her and her cabal are quite keen on castrating magic such as ours. It won't be long until she drags you along a silken cord once you remove that belt."

Dynaheir gasped, a momentary crack in her demeanor. She recovered in a deathly low voice. "Do not insult what thou doth not know."

"Cord and mask, leash and muzzle." A challenge lay embedded in Edwin's words.

Zanven twisted in his chair, pinned between the age old rivalry. Enlisting Edwin's help seemed the worst of his ideas. "I don't think I understand... I could, um, just head back to my room..."

Dynaheir's grip tightened as she eased him to his feet. That seemed a clear enough denial of his retreat.

* * *

"What poison was that wizard spreading?" Dynaheir's sour mood had not recovered quite yet. Her frustration guided her steps, and Zanven hustled after her to match her pace. "Nothing out of that man's mouth bodes well for anybody except himself, and by the Hells, even he isn't safe from his own folly!"

Zanven didn't need that repeated for it to stick with him. A special brand of egotism, that man had crafted.

Dynaheir breathed out her irritation. "Listen to me prattle on as he does. I am above spitting such venom. Thou needst not worry. Mine ire is not for thee."

Zanven offered a smile. "I didn't think it was."

Oh, wasn't that a relief! It had seemed as if being within Edwin's presence had doomed him by association. That proclamation alone blew away the storm clouds trailing in the woman's wake.

"So," Zanven continued, "where were we going then?"

Nothing like starting the day wedged between clashing foreigners and then whisked off to who knew where.

"What? Where are we... oh." Embarrassment was most unlike Dynaheir. "I suppose an explanation is in order. I had meant to seek thee out before Edwin made this day difficult."

"Is there something wrong?"

"Nay, nothing so troublesome. It was actually at Imoen's behest that I returned to the inn for thee."

Zanven let skepticism creep up. This ought to be good. "What'd Imoen want?"

"She tagged along as I sought out supplies, and she shared an interest in my knowledge. So much so I felt inclined to set her on a path of learning."

Zanven stopped. "What?"

"Thou seemeth troubled by this news."

"This learning... you don't mean magic, right? Like... actual spells?"

"Aye, though 'tis merely only a part of learning the craft. Honing one's mind and soul comes with the more material and arcane sides." Honest confusion laced Dynaheir's words.

Had the woman not travelled with them long enough to realize the mistake she was making? Willingly planting the seeds of magic in Imoen of all people was ludicrous. Absolutely reckless considering his sister's talent for ignoring common sense and decency.

"She must be pulling your leg," Zanven said. "Imoen doesn't have the patience for it. Put her to work on scrolls and spellbooks and she'll give it up."

"The spite of siblings is such a peculiar thing." Dynaheir prodded him to continue walking. "Perhaps thou art jealous? The source of thine envy though... whatever could it be?"

"That's... that's ridiculous! I am not jealous."

"Magic is in thy blood and now thy sister wishes to make it a part of her in her own way."

Zanven dropped his chin to his chest. He suppressed a sigh. Nothing about this idea pleased him. Who'd be the first to be lit on fire? Blasted by lightning? Assaulted by some summoned monster?

All on accident of course, and a nagging feeling wagered he'd be the victim.

"She didn't say so explicitly, so perhaps it is merely conjecture, but thy presence in this venture is important to her." Dynaheir nudged him with an elbow. "Thou couldst be as much a teacher as I."

Zanven angled away from Dynaheir, or would have if Peri hadn't tangled himself around his neck. The dragon cooed. "Do it, Master! You'd be just like cranky, old Parda." Zanven waved his hand; he was not like that at all!

"Who's better suited than a child of the Weave, and one having grown under loremasters? Despite thy doubt, I know the girl has a good head on her shoulders. She will listen and learn. Let us endeavor together."

"When you put it that way... I could I suppose." He knew he was mumbling, and he cursed himself for it. Warmth flooded his cheeks and he did his best to hide his face. Such a useful thing, that shawl.

"That is the spirit." Dynaheir clapped him on the back, tugging at the shawl he wrapped around himself. "I've no doubt Imoen will take to thine enthusiasm for the arcane."

Something in that thought gave him pause as they came upon the 'student' in question.

* * *

"You guys make it seem so easy."

"Using your head tends to help."

"Keep pushing me and I'll use yours as a drum!"

Dynaheir stepped between the two to squash the argument. The Three be merciful for the spot she had found for the lesson; the copse of trees gave them the privacy they needed to avoid a crowd of onlookers. Luckily so far it also stopped their voices from carrying too far.

"Castles aren't built in a day, Imoen," Dynaheir said. She ushered them to the ground around a circle of scrolls. "Nor in the face of even the worst sieges are they brought down as quickly."

Zanven frowned and muttered an apology. Imoen smiled at the rebuke before she tapped her chin in thought. "But that's not true though, is it? You could just shape up rocks or move mountains with spells, and I bet a dragon could tear down a castle pretty easily." She waved her fingers. "Magic!"

"That is... not entirely incorrect." Dynaheir pushed a set of scrolls into Imoen's lap. "I trust that thou spent some time looking over these in mine absence?"

"Well," Imoen said, tracing her finger across the symbols on one of the papers. "A little I guess. I remember some of 'em from back home, but they're all so weird!"

"You could have spent more time studying, you know," Zanven said.

"Says you. Must be real hard not having to read any of these scrolls—"

"I admit," Dynaheir said, cutting in before they could bicker again, "spell script can be tricky, but 'tis a necessary evil. Here. This one is simple. It is the one I showed thee before leaving. Thou remembereth, no?"

It was a novice cantrip. Even for the unlearned it wasn't a struggle to decipher.

Imoen looked between her and the scroll, uncertainty pinching her face. Dynaheir motioned for her to go on. The girl took a breath and danced her fingers across the scroll. After a few times she started in a chant. The scroll flashed and her hands glowed.

"Look! Look at my hands!" Imoen waved them in front of her face and splayed them in front of her. She brimmed with excitement. "Nothing crazy, but I did it."

"Nothing's on fire, right? Nobody's missing any limbs?" Zanven asked. Peri giggled as his master made a show of patting down the fairy dragon.

"No, you ninny! I casted a spell all by myself." Imoen wiggled her fingers, entranced by the light she conjured.

"Cherish the moment. Even archmages started out small," Dynaheir said. "Were we in Rashemen, wetting one's feet in the arcane would be cause for ceremony."

"Oh, like a big festival?" Imoen's eyes lit up. "I'd like that! Gimme another. I can do anot—aww, what gives?" The light around her hands winked out as she reached into the pile.

"Concentration." Dynaheir chanted and her own hands lit up with a glow. "Thou must maintain thy connection with the Weave or it flickers out. Even more so when thou worketh without scrolls. Thy mind is the key to spellcraft." She snapped her fingers and the spell died.

"She'll be spending an eternity trying to get herself to concentrate properly. Gods help her if she sees something shiny mid-spell," Zanven said.

"I can think straight when I want to!" Imoen socked him in the arm. Satisfied with beating down her brother, she took on a quizzical look. "What's it like without reading off anything or having to say some fancy words? I mean, you're like a walking spellbook."

Zanven cocked his head, pursing his lips. "It's different. I feel for the energy and it comes to me. It's like moving an arm or leg for me. Second nature."

"So how d'ya go about throwing out new spells?" Imoen asked. She looked to Dynaheir. "We'd have to study up and work on a spellbook and practice, practice, practice. You don't need that though."

Dynaheir nodded with a smile, saying nothing. Baby steps before walking, and walking before running. It was a delight to see their discourse unfold.

"I think on it and... I make it happen?" Imoen snorted at his answer and Zanven shrugged. "Like I said, it's all part of me. I imagine what I want to do and then reach out for the magic. That is how I practice."

"We do the same, though not through ourselves, Imoen," Dynaheir added. "With our scrolls and grimoires, they provide us with the ability to reach out as Zanven does. Our materials and phrases are not for nothing. They are sparks for the fire."

"So he can just go on and cast whatever he wants while I have to do it the hard way. Figures." Imoen sat back before a grin engulfed her. "Why don't you go on and do just that, huh?"

"What? No! I don't even know what I'd do."

"Come on now. You said all you had to do was think and reach out for it." Imoen said. "Show me something!"

"I've an idea," Dynaheir said. She guided him to his feet and moved a few paces away. "Shield thyself. Such a skill is invaluable considering what the future may hold. If thou canst deter blade and arrow, or even other spells, thou wouldst have a new way to thwart thy hunters. Surely thou learned something of the sort from thy tutors?"

"I don't know." He stood still, arms at his side. "I mean, I know what I said, but..."

"Bet'cha just need something to spur ya on. I'm more'n happy to oblige!" Imoen dug up handfuls of dirt and chucked them at Zanven. A volley sailed through the air, showering Zanven in soil.

"Stop that! Cut it out!" Imoen ignored his orders and scrambled for more ammo. "I said quit it!" He waved an arm and the latest hail blew away. Zanven's face scrunched up and he gestured forward as if pushing against a wall. A shimmer gleamed in front of him and Imoen's projectiles bounced away.

"Credit's all mine," Imoen said, holding back her attack. "I made you do it so that means I get to name the spell. All great wizards get to name spells, right? I bet Dynaheir's named a few. I _know_ Edwin's named some."

Dynaheir chuckled. "I cannot claim any spells to mine name, though it is within reason to believe that some of the more prevalent casters are partial to their nomenclature."

"How about _Imoen's Dirt Shield_?"

Zanven stood in place, his posture slow to unready itself from another strike. "You're not naming anything... much less something as dumb as that!"

"Wouldst thou be able to block hardier forces?"

"Maybe? I haven't put much thought into it."

"Try. Ready thyself. This will be more than dirt." Dynaheir uttered a phrase under her breath and aimed at Zanven. A ball of energy shot toward Zanven, crashing into the aura around him. He staggered back with a grimace, but suffered no harm. "Hmm. That was satisfactory."

"I've felt better." Zanven rubbed at his arm where the blast had attempted to strike. "You're not going to throw anything more at me, are you?"

"Only if thou art ready, though I urge thee in the interest of thy safety to hone this spell."

"Look at it this way," Imoen said. "You figure this out and Jaheira'll have a harder time bruising you up because you can't fight for beans. Speaking of which, I wonder..." The girl toyed with a stick and jumped to her feet.

"Imoen, I think that is perhaps a tad unnecessary..." Dynaheir said.

"Why do I hear her moving? Peri, what is she doing—where'd you fly off to? Imoen, I swear—stop that!"

"It's for your own good! I'm doing you a favor. Oghma'd be proud, it's all in the interest of learning!"

Imoen spared him no mercy. She swung and thrust in an effort to batter him. His shield sparked erratically, blocking every other blow.

"Just concentrate, Zanven. Simple, right?"

"I'll—ow! I'm going... to kill you!"

The spectacle had little elegance it; although perhaps that is where its best quality resided. Lessons need not always be planned. Better to learn from a harmless branch then an assassin's blade.

Dynaheir turned toward the fluttering of wings by her side. Peri greeted her with fangs, as cheeky a smile the fairy dragon could muster. She rose a brow and her mouth tugged upward.

"Thou willst offer no aid to thy master?"

"Nah. He's fine."


	16. Chapter 16

Khalid's leg bounced and he shifted in his seat. Breathing in the stale air sent a shudder down his spine. An unpleasant room; behind bars though a far crueler place. He flinched at the shriek echoing from the other room, muffled but the pain behind it no less hidden.

Dirty business, but duty called; at least that's how it was rationalized. Duty and balance, cornerstones to maintain. It made sense, and he always conceded when his wife justified the practice. It was always her that opted to do the deed across their missions.

His heart was never in it. Gods be praised that neither was Jaheira's; no matter her conviction, he knew what that frown of hers meant every time. Duty was not liked, but not to be ignored.

Khalid rubbed his brooch, ignoring the new round of screams.

Downright dirty business.

He leaped to his feet when the door swung open. His wife marched out, determination carved onto her face. A Flaming Fist followed behind with much the same expression.

"W-well then?" Khalid asked. "I t-take it we have what we were looking f-for?"

Jaheira shared a look with the other woman and sighed. "Something to that effect. It is... distasteful, but Officer Vai's methods have bore fruit. Tranzig spoke of a trail he frequented."

"The bottom feeders tend to squeal sooner rather than later." Officer Vai shook her head. "He opened up, but I'm afraid of any actual weight behind his words. This trail sounds sparse."

"Sparse or not, surely it is something?" Khalid's effort at optimism fizzled in the face of the women's frowns.

Jaheira shifted her feet. Khalid recognized her restlessness; she was resisting the urge to pace holes in the floor. "Tranzig is a lackey running errands for the operations here, so he knows of the routes his comrades take. There are multiple camps, although none permanent. Our quarry is always on the move to best throw off their hunters, however one such camp he mentioned is different. It is larger and not quite as mobile."

"The fool's hardly even sure of it," Officer Vai said, glaring at the room housing their prisoner. "Said he's never actually been there, but supposedly it's a gathering place up north for all these criminals. You could spend ages tramping through those woods with nothing to show for it."

"Nevertheless, it is necessary to scope out this lead," Jaheira said. "If it is the head of the serpent, best dash it now."

Officer Vai heaved a sigh. "Wouldn't that truly be for the best?"

Jaheira narrowed her eyes, settling a gaze on the other woman. "You are not apathetic toward wiping away the banditry."

The mercenary's face scrunched up as anger flickered in her eyes. "No, of course not! I would not be a part of this"—she patted the flaming hand stitched across her shirt—"if that were the case. I imagine it is as much the case with your employer as mine." She made a point of eyeing Jaheira's brooch.

Khalid cleared his throat. "I think, ah, it is a question of how much support you c-can give us. We share a similar g-goal no doubt." Jaheira registered his look with a roll of her eyes.

_Mind your temper, dear._

"If it's support your looking for, I've very little to give—at the moment that is!" The mercenary invited grumbling from Jaheira. "The number under my command is limited, and certainly not enough to throw into what amounts to a goose chase. However, I can send news to the Gate and request more arms."

"And how long would that take?" Jaheira asked.

"I... I do not know," Officer Vai said. "My word is trusted though and I'm certain any request would be met with utmost haste."

"Haste," Jaheira said. "That would be appreciated." She took hold of Khalid's arm and left the jail.

It was all Khalid could do to throw the Flaming Fist a sympathetic look as his wife dragged him away.

* * *

"Khalid, I do not do waiting!"

"I know, d-dear."

"We are to sit around while the Flaming Fist tend to their bureaucracy? Tendays will pile up before her request is even just considered!"

"I do not d-doubt that."

Jaheira quit moving around the small room they shared and folded her arms across her chest. Her lips tugged downward; iron will tempered in the forge of marriage kept Khalid from cracking a smile. "You play a dangerous game to patronize me."

"P-patronize?" Khalid raised his palms up. "I am far too k-kind and gentle a soul for such a game."

Her frown wavered but held. "I've clobbered heads for less."

"It's no small wonder then that I invested in a helm for all our years together."

In spite of her efforts, a grin slipped past her. Jaheira walked in front of her husband and thrust a finger at his forehead. She gave his head a shake. "No small wonder indeed. I am thankful this investment of yours has paid itself back and then some lest something were to rattle out."

Khalid pulled her down to the bed next to him. "Oh, we wouldn't want that."

They shared an embrace, a small pleasure denied by the demands of the road. For a moment he wondered what life would be like away from Harper business. Just the two of them settled down in some quaint village without the troubles of the world breathing down their backs.

Jaheira pulled away, her gruff demeanor softening. Her eyes betrayed a mind at work, quick to return to issues at hand; no, such a plain life would not suit them. "We cannot stand idle, not if Tranzig's words held any truth to them."

"I know." Khalid sighed. "But what do we really know of this c-camp, if it exists? Of the b-bandits' strength? Their numbers?"

"Nothing until we find out ourselves."

"Jaheira..."

"Let us leave Zanven and Imoen within Dynaheir and Minsc's company. " She paused at her suggestion then shook her head, banishing away the uncertainty. "I trust them to provide no less safety than we do. The children are safer that way and would only slow our efforts."

Khalid sighed. There was no stopping her now. "And what of the others?"

"We are scouting, so we've no need of the wizard. I do not have the patience for his whining. As for the gnome... as much as I detest his presence, if he can be convinced to follow along then I'll find use of him."

"Scouting." Khalid mulled over the idea. It was details they needed and sitting in Beregost brought them no closer to dealing with the banditry.

"More has been asked of us than what we do now. Ployer's demise is proof enough of that. Let us think on this." She poked at his head again. "Unless you've let anything rattle out..."

He batted her hand away and chuckled. "I have my reservations, but I t-trust in your wisdom to see us through."

* * *

"You are kidding. (Gods, the brat isn't!)"

"Nope! Give it a little bit of time and I'll be slinging spells right alongside ya." Imoen danced around Edwin and waved her hands as if in the midst of casting. He scowled at her and shrunk away as they walked.

"You've surprised me, witch," Edwin said. "I had not thought I could think any less of you. What mockery of judgment is this to think the girl has any aptitude for an art far above her understanding?"

"Is that not the same criticism thy superiors said to thee?" Dynaheir said. She nodded toward Imoen. "We all start somewhere, Red Wizard or not."

"(I earned my place!)" Edwin huffed. "Is that what this is then? You drag me out from the comfort of my own room to take your apprentice on some sort of field trip?"

"Precisely," Dynaheir said. "High Hedge is no well kept secret, in spite of its inhabitant's wishes. There are benefits to picking the brain of thy betters. Even for you, Edwin."

"You should not pick too much though," Minsc said. "A brain is no apple tree. Take too much and you leave an empty head!"

"Yes, you are an expert on that, aren't you?" Edwin scoffed and turned away, through with his traveling companions.

Imoen bounded over to Zanven. Let the mean wizard stew in his misery. "You're not the only one against me learning something new. At least you're not quite as rude."

"I still don't think it's a good idea. You aren't... you can't..." Zanven flushed as Dynaheir cleared her throat over him. "High Hedge you said?" Imoen gave the woman a thumbs up and received a smile in return.

"A mage of respectable talent calls the tower home. He is... an interesting sort, but was courteous enough in our last meeting," Dynaheir said. "We all would do well to pay a visit."

"Jaheira and Khalid didn't want to come? Or Tiax?" Imoen asked. "Not that I miss him." Dynaheir straightened and an odd look flashed across her face. When she spoke her usual calm returned.

"They have business of their own to attend to," Dynaheir said. "We've time to spare in their absence and it was at their behest that I keep an eye on matters. It was with their approval that I planned this trip."

"(Relegated to glorified babysitters as always. Pfah.)"

Dynaheir opened her mouth for a retort, but thought better of it. "It is not merely for learning though, I admit. I am certain if anybody can undo thy curse, Zanven, it is Thalantyr."

Edwin made a strangled noise and Zanven couldn't his hide his shock. Between the two of them Imoen laughed. And here he thought he'd need that red ninny's help instead of Dynaheir's.

"Aw. I was just getting used to him like this too," Imoen said.

"All the more reason to hurry then," Zanven said.

* * *

Would he ever quiet down or would his watch consist of constant mumbling? Zanven couldn't make sense of what the wizard said, only catching words here and there. Really, who found their own words so entrancing? Conversations were meant to include multiple voices—from _different_ people.

It was only when Zanven heard his name did he perk up his head.

"Eavesdropping is rude. I imagine that stands even here with this land's lack of basic societal customs."

Zanven sat up with a glare. "I can't sleep with you chattering away to yourself."

"Spare me your whining. If sleep eludes you, make yourself useful. Your time is mine, so our deal goes."

Frustration boiled in his chest. His skin tingled and he felt his head glow. So what if they had a deal? It hardly mattered now if Dynaheir could fix things.

"My time isn't yours to have! Especially once we make it to High Hedge."

"So much faith you have in her and this unknown wizard. Are you willing to gamble away my help if theirs amounts to nothing? I'll not take you back when you come crying at my feet."

Zanven hesitated. Damn the man for being able to pull the rug out from under his anger so quickly! He trudged over to Edwin, plopping down with his arms folded. Edwin remained silent and he shifted under the man's inspection.

"You are book learned." A statement rather than a question, said with a hint of surrendering that fact.

"I... am?"

Where was Edwin going with this?

"And you know of Thay and Rashemen. Flesh out your geographic knowledge further. What other countries lie far east?"

"Uh... Thesk. Aglarond... Chessenta?" Zanven faltered as Edwin hmmed with each region. "There are more."

"Then name them."

What was with this sudden geography test?

Edwin clicked his tongue as Zanven failed to list off anything more. "The Great Dale. Narfell. The Hordelands and Kara Tur further east. Unther. _Mulhorand_."

"So you know more than me about places nearly a continent away. What about any of them?"

What about the emphasis on that last one?

"I've put thought into your oddities," Edwin said, paying his irritation no mind, "and some of my questions may have answers."

Helpless confusion blanketed Zanven. Must every one of their conversations involve him chasing after the wizard's point? He flared, fingers twisting at his sides. "Stop being vague and come out with it already."

Edwin reached over and slipped off the cloth around his eyes. "Almost like Helcaliant placed the sun in your blood, but you are no Mulan."

Zanven reared back, scrambling to retie the cord around his eyes. Enough with the nonsense! He fidgeted, moving to go back to his bedroll. He gasped at Edwin's iron grip.

"Right now your time is mine." Edwin's voice sharpened, slicing through Zanven's irritation. "(Fine. I shall dangle a banana before the simian lest he flees.) I've encountered other sorcerers, though the source of their magic runs the gamut. Just as I thought yours until I put the pieces together."

Zanven went still. An angry retort hung on the tip of his tongue, locked away as his breath left him. He returned to the library with Gorion and his evasiveness; to the carnival with Gazib and his malice. With Imoen and her stories and Khalid and the genasis.

Not a one conclusive. Nothing solid enough, nothing believable.

Zanven licked his lips. His voice shook. "What do you know?"

Edwin's took on a haughty tone. "You are different, but I've seen those similar to you from slaves won in skirmishes with Mulhorand. (And how delightful their slavery is, knowing they cannot return home to rot in their sandy tombs.) Shining spawns of their divine tyrants." Same as last time, Edwin reverted to his own tongue to speak a phrase.

"I don't understand... What are they?"

_What am I?_

Edwin drew away. "Ah but isn't that the question? Just remember who has the answer if the witch cures you. Our deal is ever shifting. Off with you until my interest arises again."

Zanven plodded away, stunned into silence. Sleep refused to come easily.

* * *

"Do either of you have something like this back home?" Imoen asked.

"We Rashemi are a tad more austere with our homes," Dynaheir said.

"That is why they are so easy to trample over," Edwin said.

"So you do have big, ol' towers then?" Imoen asked. "Makes sense, what with all you evil wizards."

"Architecture provides an excellent medium for projecting power. (I find this design unsightly however.)"

"You'd so hermit yourself away in some dusty tower, Edwin. Oh! I could help you design one!" Imoen rummaged through her pack. "I just need some paper first..."

"I will have nothing to do with your childish scribbles!"

"Let me announce our arrival, and please behave thyselves," Dynaheir said, quieting down her companions. Arcane words spilled from her lips in a sing-song grace. An alarm sounded, feint through the walls of the building, followed by a woosh as the door opened. "Do remember I said he's an interesting sort."

Zanven fended off a burst of excitement from Imoen as they entered, the girl frantically prodding his shoulder. "Yes, yes, we all know! Magic opened the door."

"(She claps her hands at a door opening, but thinks she can master the Weave...)"

The building was warmer than outside. Humming emanated from further within, metal grinding against metal. Zanven shook his head from an onset of dizziness. The air here was rife with magic. It washed over him, and he rubbed his arms as if it clung to him.

A trio of voices inside shouted at one another in waves of exasperation and anger:

"Melicamp's earned his poultry prison, girl. Leave the fool be."

"B-b-but Master, please! It was a—b'gawk!—novice mistake!"

"Shut up, Melicamp. I'm more than capable of transforming you back to your thieving self, no matter what the old man says."

The first voice grumbled over —the clucking of a chicken?—and a woman's voice. "Bah, work your transmutations. I heard the door. Let me check on whoever was moronic enough to enter, or what's left of them if those damnable golems actually did their job for once."

Footsteps neared the group as they waited. The man registered their presence with a deep sigh. Unperturbed, Dynaheir greeted him. "It is a pleasure to meet thee again, Thalantyr."

"Yes, I imagine it is," Thalantyr said. "What makes you think I relished your company enough to warrant another visit, and with a crowd of rabble this time?"

"It's rather queer for wizards to allow their wards to be undone willingly, and thy golems haven't lifted a finger against us."

Imoen couldn't hold back a chuckle. "Jeez. Maybe I shouldn't learn magic. So far it seems most of you just turn mean and cranky."

More grumbling and a another long drawn out sigh graced them. "Perhaps I am grumpy because appreciation for quietude is a long lost notion... Apprentices! We have company. Do act accordingly!" Thalantyr walked away after hollering to his students.

"Come," Dynaheir said. "We have his approval."

"Doesn't seem that way," Zanven said.

Their host didn't seem the sort to offer his help lightly, if at all. If undoing the belt's curse relied on his good graces...

"We wouldn't have made it this far if it were otherwise," Dynaheir said, ushering them along.

* * *

"So this young woman is supposed to be a young man?" Thalantyr asked. The older wizard oozed disdain as he inspected Zanven. "Take note, Melicamp. There are others as reckless as you to handle magic beyond their comprehension."

"Yes, Master Thalantyr," Melicamp said, his voice a decidedly non-avian whisper. "I... I think I will head off to my studies..." He plodded away, all but whipped by his teacher.

Zanven balled his fists at his sides, refusing to share in Melicamp's meekness. "It was an honest mistake. I couldn't have known what the belt would do!"

Thalantyr dismissed him with a grunt. "Why are the Melicamps of the world far more plentiful than not?"

"It cannot be magic above thy skills to correct, no?" Dynaheir asked, trying to sooth beaten egos.

"It isn't."

"So you'll get this thing off of me then?" Zanven asked. Excitement bubbled in his chest.

"No."

Zanven felt like the wizard had slapped him. He opened his mouth and closed it, struggling to comprehend the abrupt denial.

Thalantyr's other apprentice stifled a chuckle. "What he means to say is, he's lazy and leaving the job up to me. Again."

"Exactly," Thalantyr said, taking on a bored tone. "Practice is a luxury I afford my apprentices, and at least one of them recognizes that. Come, Dynaheir. You've enough sense not to waste my time. And if your guard dog drops something from my collection again..."

Edwin spoke up when Thalantyr had removed himself from the room with the two Rashemi, his voice a furious whisper. "You... are working under this man? This senile hedge wizard? (Incompetence muddies her talents yet again.)"

The woman replied in a similar tone. "I've my reasons. Besides, here you are working together with the witch. What a strange world this is."

"Do they know we can hear them?" Imoen asked. "Oh, I think they do. Now they're talking with their hands. Funny looking sort with that mask of hers."

Zanven shook his head. Making sense of Edwin did not matter at the moment; trying to do so was futile anyway. His hands drifted to his belt and he cleared his throat, drawing a laugh from Imoen.

Stupid voice. Stupid belt. Stupid...

He coughed louder this time. "So you're able to fix me?"

The woman shooed away Edwin, much to his consternation. "I transmuted a man from a chicken so I think I can handle your problem." She came closer to inspect the belt and its curse. "I think I've even seen something like it before. Tricky magic for the unaware."

Zanven kept a retort quiet, not wanting to ruin his chances of returning to himself. He felt a tickle, guided magic probing him. His blood quickened as the force prodded him, tentative in its testing.

"North of Beregost, I think," she muttered, talking more for her own benefit. The magic poking him halted. "I am certain I can undo the belt's spell, though you may wish to change out of those clothes first, or, well..."

Zanven blinked, taking a moment to catch her meaning. "Ah, wha... oh. Oh! Uh, yes, that... I'll do that first."

He did his best to ignore Imoen laughing. He could endure the slight if it meant he stood on the precipice of having his real skin returned to him.

* * *

Thalantyr eyed her from his chair, his chin in his hand. He leaned forward, gruffness replaced by bemusement. "I take it you've returned to my abode for more than that boy's misstep."

Dynaheir sat across from him, fingers trailing the length of the chair's arm. "There are multiple reasons, in truth. That is among them, and I thank thee for thy help."

The wizard waved away the compliment. "I do have an astute eye for who I choose to impart my knowledge to, though I have my lapses... come then. I'd have your other reasons."

"One is far more practical. I intend to oversee the magical development of my companions and I thought this visit was in their best interest to soak up knowledge."

"Ah. Apprentices of your own? I advise against putting the undue headache on your platter." A ghost of a smile tugged at Thalantyr's lips and amusement flashed in his eyes. "Rather young yourself to take others under your wing."

"I've spotted in them a willingness to learn worth fostering." Now it was Dynaheir's turn to dismiss Thalantyr. "The Weave is not so kind a thing to handle alone."

"No, I suppose it is not. I'll entertain the thought of imparting a shred of my knowledge... if they don't irritate me." Thalantyr hummed and leaned back. "I imagine I know what you have really returned for."

Dynaheir looked over her shoulder, seeing Minsc interested in a shelf full of magical collections. The warrior had a bottle between his fingers. Her eyes widened upon noticing the red sheen, and Thalantyr must have noticed too because he was quick to jump to his feet.

"Put that potion down, you oaf! If you dare drop that I'll have you rebuild my home brick by brick!" Thalantyr eased back into his seat when Minsc delicately put the bottle down, a sheepish look etched onto his face. "Honestly, I put up with enough fire from miscasts enough."

"Minsc, why dost thou not check on the others?" Dynaheir motioned toward the door and he made a swift exit, murmuring apologies to his hamster. She looked back to Thalantyr with a sigh. With him gone, she could speak more freely. "I am here for more of the same."

"I had no doubts. Since we last talked, pray tell, how successful have you been in your venture?"

Dynaheir narrowed her eyes before running a hand through her hair. "I've... had mine setbacks. Making sense of prophecies and seeking out the spawn are as thee said. A needle in the hay."

"You've set yourself on a difficult task. I much prefer dealing with immediate realities than sooth sayers' far off puzzles." Thalantyr stood up and walked over to the shelves against the wall. "However, even I have come to terms with the weight behind Alaundo's words. We all had to, those of us with arcane talent. You were what, on the cusp of womanhood then I imagine?" Thalantyr's words held in pain.

"I was, yes. Thou speaketh of the Time of Troubles," Dynaheir said, uneasy to broach the subject.

Memories of Sisters gone mad caused her heart to ache. They were bereft of the Hidden One, floating astray in chaos, and lost everything. Spirits went silent and the land was left void of its vibrancy. Many still lived with scars from then, the past decade doing nothing to ease their pain.

"Disastrous to have power ripped away and to see knowledge mean nothing." Thalantyr moved from one item to another in constant inspection; protective, almost as if his collection would disappear into thin air right before him. He turned to face her. "Perhaps you are an easier woman to understand than I had first thought. Your companions are lucky for your presence."

Dynaheir nodded, sympathy welling up for the old wizard. "As are thy students."

Thalantyr shook with a fit of laughter. "Were you to ask them I am certain they would use a more unpleasant description." He motioned her over to a box near the shelf. Up close, a heavy aura hung in the air around it. "I wish to show you something. Kazgaroth. Does that name mean anything to you?"

Dynaher shook her head. "I cannot say that it does."

"But Bhaal does." Thalantyr lifted open the box and the aura grew heavier, as if struggling to keep something at bay. "Kazgaroth was a dreadful beast and the world is better without him. This claw belonged to him."

Even shriveled and decayed, the hand emanated power. It dwarfed her hand, hers child-like in comparison. The claw had a mottled brown color to it as if touched by disease. Four fingers clenched together ending in nails sharp as daggers.

"I don't show you this to flaunt my conquests, but rather to let you know that no matter the hay hiding it, the needle is there. This beast served Bhaal, a monstrous aspect more than willing to spread murder. I cannot offer much to answer your questions, but if Alaundo spoke of them then the spawn you seek are as real as this claw."

Dynaheir traced her fingers along the edge of the box. No wonder then such thick magic cast a pall over the claw. She moved to pull her hand away when the claw jumped out, crushing her hand in its grip. She screamed as a burning sensation lanced up her arm. She could sense Thalantyr roaring in the background, spells at the ready, but only the claw mattered.

Her eyes rolled back, but her vision focused on something not of her own accord. A creature towered over her in a slouch, spines protruding from its broken flesh. Blotches coated its hide. Its face was skull-like, the skin pulled taut and blood dripping from a savage grin. Pin pricks of fire burned in its eye sockets, gazing down at her with curiosity; looking upon her as she were an insect and wondering what she could possibly do.

Laughter filled her head in an insidious cacophony. It cocked its head to the side, shoulders rising up and down with whatever glee it found. A question rolled off of the monster: who are you to wonder about me? It made no noise, never having uttered a word, but she knew what it was thinking; it had forced her to know.

The creature straightened to its full height, and Dynaheir felt fear tugging at her soul. It raised an arm, flexing its claws, and swiped at her. She braced herself for death.

All at once the room materialized around her. Thalantyr knelt beside her and Minsc paced around them, eyes wild. The others stood by the doorway in shock.

"What has the cranky wizard done to you, Dynaheir?" Minsc's arm twitched at his side, threatening to bring his blade to bear.

"I have done nothing! You will give me room!" Thalantyr yelled, authority erupting from his voice. No one dared to respond and his tone shifted as a chant passed by his lips.

Dynaheir felt tired, but none of the pain remained. Her arm no longer burned and all traces of the monster's presence disappeared. She raised a hand, a weak sign to calm Minsc's rage. Thalantyr had her on her feet and she could see the claw limp in its container.

"For all my years and experience, I do not understand what has happened. Come, rest. Just this once shall I open up my doors to others overnight." Thalantyr led everybody out of the room, and before she knew it she was tucked away, overwhelmed by exhaustion.

* * *

A knock jolted Dynaheir up. Heart pounding, her head swiveled in search of the monster. Sweat rolled off of her brow, plastering her hair to her face. She wiped it away, breathing deep to calm her nerves. Another knock echoed from the door and hushed voices traded barbs from the other side.

"I told you we shouldn't bother her! I bet she's not even awake. Why can't we just listen to Thalantyr and do as he said?"

"Look, mister! We're gonna check on her. Besides, you owe her some thanks. None of this implied 'Oh, she already knows I'm thankful' nonsense. A real face-to-face thank you. Unless... heh."

"Unless what? What was that stupid laugh for?"

"Unless you're afraid for some reason. Maybe a little... nervous? Ha, look at your face! Why so nervous, huh?"

"I am not—" Dynaheir raised her hand toward the door, fingers wiggling, and it creaked open. "ner...vous?"

Imoen tried to stifle a laugh, but her face betrayed her. Zanven stood stiff, frozen like the rabbit before the wolf. Imoen shoved him inside and shut the door behind her. "Heya. Feeling a little better?"

"I am well, though I am afraid if it is answers thou seeketh... there is little to tell."

She would have danced around any questions regardless, but sense eluded her. Even if she allowed them to be privy to her conversation with Thalantyr, what would she say?

Imoen came over and sat on the edge of the bed while Zanven remained by the door. She patted Dynaheir's arm. "Nah, s'not an interrogation. Just worried about'cha is all." She turned to glare at her brother. "Get over here, you! Sheesh."

Zanven took timid steps and sat on the other side of the bed, careful to avoid leaning against her. "Thalantyr said not to bother you, but, uh, well..."

Dynaheir nudged him with her leg from under the blanket. He just about jumped to the ceiling. She smiled as he shifted away from her. "I see that thou art thyself now. The belt is gone and thy form is returned to thee."

"Yes, Thalantyr's apprentice, the woman not the, uh, chicken," Zanven hesitated, stumbling over himself, "she changed me back..."

"Aaand?" Imoen asked as he paused again. Her face scrunched up, annoyance and amusement unable to win over the other in her expression.

"T-thank you. For bringing us here... to Thalantyr and his apprentices."

"Thou rescued me from death at the hands of gnolls. Bringing thee to someone capable of undoing thy curse is small in comparison." A funny coloring took to Zanven's cheeks and he rubbed his face.

"High Hedge is great," Imoen said. "Melicamp and... oh, how have I forgotten her name already! She seems so familiar too... ah well, the two of them showed us around. Showed how that big spinny crystal works, what kind've magic Thalantyr has them working on, all sorts of stuff he's collected being an old wizard... we should just stay here!"

"I doubt Thalantyr would approve of that idea, Imoen," Dynaheir said.

"Nah, he doesn't. I asked already."

Dynaheir shook her head, feeling silly for grinning. "Be that as it may, I am glad things have worked out for the best."

"Yup. Well, guess we'll leave you alone now then. Had to be sure you were alright 'cause you can't teach me nothing otherwise," Imoen rose from the bed. Zanven nodded in agreement and the two of them left the room.

His back turned to her as he exited, Dynaheir's breath caught in her throat. His shadow flickered into a beastly shape. She blinked and it was normal. The door clicked behind them. She brought a hand to her face, rubbing her eyes.

A trick of the light. Just Selune shining through the window at an odd angle. Nothing amiss.

Dynaheir rolled over, burrowing beneath the covers. Her blood chilled, and no amount of blankets would bring her warmth to overcome it.

* * *

Author's Notes: Blegh. Nothing like being busy all the time and the few times you sit down to get to writing... you hit a brick wall, and then the wall decides to just keep getting bigger and bigger. On the plus side, I'm still kicking, so I got that going for me.

Thalantyr always struck me as a bit of a softie, underneath his 'I hate people, so leave me alone' attitude. Some npcs are just fun to toy with once you've found the flavor you wanna set them up with. Same goes for other characters, so I hope as always it's cool!


	17. Chapter 17

"'Credus, do this! Credus, do that! Credus, you idiot!'" the bandit whined, throwing his hands up in the air. He strayed from the cluster of tents and into the forest. "No respect from nobody. I'll be the boss one day, just you big-headed bastards wait."

Credus leaned up against a tree, crossing his arms. "Guard Tazok's tent, they says... as if anybody is gonna walk in there without orders." He shifted his weight. "And they call me the oaf. Nobody's stupid enough after seeing that elf done up like a scarecrow..."

The tree moved ever so slightly, branches swaying. Credus patted it affectionately. "You know, you're a good tree. Giving me the time of day... uh, well, night really. You're the only one who listens to me around here. I won't let nobody turn you into firewood, no way!"

The tree groaned, and Credus reared back. "Tree! Y-you're alive!" He hopped away as if its bark was fire. "Wait... no. I know what you are! You're some kinda dryad. Oh gods, this is... this is great! I remember Ma's tales. Dryads give you three wishes in exchange for a kiss!"

A choked sound came from the tree. The tree stepped forward, bark stretching into a feminine shape. It raised an arm to its head, but paused. It pointed at Credus, beckoning with a leafy finger.

His shock dissipated into a grin. He made a show of patting down his hair and dusting off his shirt. He leaned in for his kiss, only to cry out when the tree-woman locked her arms around his neck. Vines protruded from the ground and lashed out at him.

"Your mother was wrong." Her hostility faltered for but a moment with the shake of her head. "Pure idiocy... Nature's servants are not genies bound in a lamp."

She released her hold as the vines wrapped around him head-to-toe. She clutched at them and dragged him through the woods.

"Civilization leaves much to be desired if this is what it churns out..."

* * *

"Tiax knows what he can do with this peon. Korax deserves a meal."

Credus thrashed in his bonds, a scream stifled by the vines. Tiax loomed over the bandit, wickedness tugging at his lips.

"If I so much as catch sight of that vile charm of yours, I'll see to it you're a meal for the creatures of these woods." Jaheira thumped her staff against the ground, fire dancing behind her glare. "We've no need for your abomination."

Tiax blew a raspberry. "Your threats are meaningless. Count yourself lucky Tiax does not warrant an apology." The gnome crossed his arms and backed away, stewing in a cloud of petulance.

Khalid shook his head. Best get to the matter at hand while the bandit's absence wasn't noticed and before his partners tore into each other. He kneeled beside Credus and moved the vines away from his mouth.

"Help! Somebody plea—mrmph!"

Khalid covered the bandit's mouth and brought a finger to his own lips to shush him. "P-please. You m-must be quiet. Answer what we ask of you and this will g-go easier."

Credus' eyes spun wild and frantic, but he nodded. Khalid let go of his mouth, and Credus spoke in a choked whisper. "Please! I-I-I'm not... I'm an idiot! I don't know nothing!"

"We shall judge that," Jaheira said. "Tell us of your camp."

Credus blanched. "Y-you're lawmen, aren't you? I'm not like them! I haven't killed nobody, honest! I just guard tents and tell people to piss off if they get too close... please, I only joined for the pay! I wasn't making nothing farming and my ma and pa need the—"

Khalid hushed him again. He shared a look with Jaheira. The bandit was hardly an adult, most likely the same age as Zanven and Imoen. The kid wasn't cut from the same cloth as those who massacred merchant caravans. Jaheira's grimace never wavered.

"I am waiting," Jaheira said, exuding none of her husband's compassion.

"This camp isn't like the other ones. All those are small, quick stops for us to catch our breath." Credus spoke fast, tripping over his words. "This here's the big one, where all of us are."

"'All of us?'" Khalid asked.

"All the bosses. The smart ones, you know." Credus shivered, his voice crumbling. "Oh gods, if any of them find out I said anything..."

"You've far more pressing worries right now," Jaheira said. "Who are these bosses of yours?"

Credus hesitated, prompting Jaheira to repeat her question with less enthusiasm. "Taugosz. He's head of the Black Talons. And there's Ardenor with the Chill. Both of them big and mean... but nothing compared to T-Tazok..."

The Harpers both perked at the last name Credus gave them. "He is your leader then?"

Credus nodded. "Awful brute of an ogre. Spawned right from the Hells, I bet."

"What of your numbers? How many of you are there?"

"I... I think... well, there's a dozen or so of the goblins and about the same of the Talons here. Most of them are out on the road while we grunts stay here." Credus paused in thought. "There's also the mutts we took in."

"Mutts?" Khalid asked, failing to hide his confusion.

"Gnolls. Pack of 'em the Chill forced into working with us. Found them down around Nashkel in the mountains and marched them up here. They don't much like their cave, but they know better than to defy Crush."

"How many of them are in their pack?" Khalid asked.

"Four left, I think. Was some more, but they put up a helluva fight," Credus said. "One's real mouthy. Always surrounded by two of his mangy friends. Fourth one's whipped, more like a wet cat than a gnoll. Smart for a beast though I guess… kinda miss that one. Taught him how to play cards, and he even learned how to win at—"

"Show us their cave."

"W-what? I don't wanna go near them! The runt's decent enough but the others—"

"What you want matters little. Take us to their cave." Jaheira knelt beside him and Khalid, tearing at the vines. "Do not speak. Do not flee. Obey and I may afford you mercy yet."

"Mercy," Tiax said, adding a cackle. "Those who need it don't deserve it."

* * *

A pop sounded in the air proceeded by giggling and cursing. Colored smoke wafted in the air. Edwin shook his head. "(A monkey cannot teach another monkey magic, no matter his blood.)"

"I have heard funny tales from Chult," Dynaheir said. Following Edwin's gaze led her to watching the siblings' lesson, if it could be called that; perhaps letting Zanven guide her early attempts was a hasty decision. He coughed in a cloud of powder, the remnants of Imoen's botched spell.

"Yes, I am certain in that snake-infested jungle some simian is capable of a clumsy imitation of spellcraft. (Better than the girl at least.)" Edwin turned, disgust written all over his face. "You waste your time with them."

"Beginnings are hardly the grandest of tales. Perhaps though since thou art rival to the Hidden One herself it is within thy ability to teach them something?"

Edwin smiled, an innocuous action until he caught himself appreciating jest from a Wychlaran. "They are far from capable of understanding anything I'd teach. No, it is a greater waste of time I speak of then you playing at master."

Dynaheir raised an eyebrow, throwing a glance Minsc's way before settling back on Edwin. The Red Wizard's tone signaled that pesky nosiness of his. "I do not consider myself wasteful, especially so with mine time."

"An annoyance I assure you." Edwin waved a hand in Zanven and Imoen's direction. "We owe our lives to them, though I doubt you ventured this far west to waste time in local squabbles. Do you not tire of this aimless trek? Is there not more you should be doing?"

"Thou wouldst do well to remember thy life is owed to me, _Red Man_." Satisfaction flooded through her at his dark look. "Mine continued presence amongst them is more than a minor favor."

"(Of course she sees it that way.) You know as well as I do every step in this venture of theirs brings you none of the knowledge you seek. No closer to god's sin."

Dynaheir flexed her fingers, meeting Edwin's glare. Uncertainty wavered in his eyes though his mouth quirked. He stepped forward, arms folded. She remained still, refusing him the pleasure of a reaction.

"These bandits holding that divine spindle of yours?"

"At each other's throats too, no? I have not forgotten the gnome's words either, Edwin." Dynaheir straightened to match his intrusive posture. "What game art thou playing?"

"The fool sang his crazy songs, but do not think I did not see how his words affected you. That Rashemi stoicism cannot shield you forever."

"Thou pryeth into business that does not concern thee. Thy curiosity is better left for other company."

In spite of her efforts she found herself frowning at that smug look of his. Thayan academies had to have taught that alongside their vile spellwork; easy to believe Edwin passed such arrogance lessons with flying colors.

"It concerns those above me. (So unfortunately that includes me…)" Edwin let out a breath, betraying irritation at something else other than her—honest exhaustion? "If I must I will put your puzzle together piece by piece, whether through whittling away your stubbornness or snippets of anymore seers we come across."

"And what dost thou know of seers?" Dynaheir asked, anger hanging on her words. Regret washed over her for letting frustration slip past her.

Be calm. Let him come at the mountain with nothing more than a hammer and chisel.

"Admit it or not, I know the gnome spoke shreds of truth. For all of us." Edwin nodded in the others' direction. "Rather telling his madness reached a fever pitch upon Zanven's proclamation."

Dynaheir stepped close to Edwin, now her turn to intrude. "I tolerate thy threats against me. Tread lightly however if thou intendeth to set thy sights upon mine companions."

"Are you certain you are fine after your strange episode at High Hedge? Quite the outburst. Beregost is not so far, dear witch, so fear not." Edwin laughed, drawing Minsc's attention. "I am privy to mysteries in our group you are not. Information tends to be worth trading. (Especially so if it means I can leave these western barbarians.)"

Minsc quit watching the siblings' antics and stalked over, his fury only stalled by suspicion. "Wizard, you make Minsc's skin crawl with your cackling. Minsc sees your voice bothering the good witch." He pounded a fist into his palm. "Leave."

"Think on my words as you hide behind your ape." Edwin walked away, unfazed by Minsc's threat.

Minsc laid a hand on Dynaheir's shoulder, glaring at Edwin's back. "I do not understand why you let him stay. He is evil, Dynaheir."

There were no rules to the game they were playing, and the pieces weren't visible. That, however, did not mean they weren't moving. Edwin had made it clear his turn had passed over and hers began.

"At times I wonder too," Dynaheir said.

* * *

Zanven adjusted his robe, pausing in the doorway of his shared room. He turned around to face Imoen. "Aren't you coming?"

Imoen yawned. "Nah, I think I'll stay inside. Hardly even wanted to leave my bed this morning after trekking back here from Thalantyr's place. Gotta take advantage of any lazy days we can get while Jaheira is gone."

"It's only a short trip though." Zanven shifted his feet, tapping the floor with his staff. "I mean… since when do you stay inside?"

"Since I get to see you squirm."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Imoen giggled. "S'nothing. Don't worry about it."

Zanven sighed and set one foot out of the room. He stepped back in, greeted by a groan. "I just think that—"

"Nope, don't care whatcha think." Imoen jumped to her feet and marched to the door. She shoved him out of the room. "Go on, out with you! You don't need me, you got Peri. Have fun and don't embarrass yourself." The door slammed shut behind him, lock clicking.

Zanven jiggled the door handle and rested his head against the door. Peri pranced at his heels, cooing. "Come on, Master. It's rude to keep people waiting."

"I'm going, I'm going." Zanven plodded the stairs leading down to the inn's main room. He patted at his pockets. "I think I, uh, might've left something…"

Peri fluttered up and braced against him as he turned back. "Liar liar! You did not! Let's go before—oh, there she is!"

"Art thou ready?"

Zanven straightened, batting away his squeaking familiar. "Yes. Ready as can be."

Dynaheir regarded him with a thoughtful noise. "And Imoen?"

Peri flew out of his reach, all too happy to chirp up. "She's not coming. Too tired, she says."

"Um, yes. She's staying in." Zanven ran his fingers through his hair. "I can get her if you'd like…"

"'Tis fine." A slight intake of breath; was she laughing at him? "I can always do for the company, but it's merely a few errands to attend to in town. High Hedge was no short distance, so I understand if thou wouldst like the rest too."

"He's fine. Rest's not necessary." Peri bit onto the collar of his robes, dragging with his tiny might. "Let's go!"

"Stop that! I am going."

"Share in Peri's spirit. It'd do well to brighten thy disposition."

Zanven forced a smile and fell in behind her as she led them downstairs. Something told him his familiar's enthusiasm directly correlated with Imoen's reluctance to join in. Monsters, the both of them.

* * *

They walked a slow pace through Beregost, the streets lacking their usual congestion when the townsfolk flooded the market. A small blessing; less bodies to bump into and easier to avoid strangers' attention. None of the bustle that made him yearn for a quiet hideaway from goings-on around him.

Peculiar that the day was so empty. It felt like the town decided to stay inside today. Most of the time the only footsteps he heard were their own. Maybe it was Imoen's doing as some elaborate joke; anything to spite him with that girl…

"After spending so much time recently with everybody, 'tis refreshing to flee the group. I take it thy pondering silence means thou art in agreement?"

Zanven snapped from his thoughts, shoulders rising in a start. Peri tittered at his side "I guess it is nice."

"Nice? Thou art free from thy sister for the day and it is just nice?" Dynaheir chuckled. "I admit, she is a handful. Thou didst warn me though."

An 'I told you so,' threatened to break past his nervousness. Zanven smiled in spite of himself. "I've had the misfortune of growing up alongside her."

"Thou art a cruel sort." Dynaheir gave him a playful shove. "She is perhaps a touch too excitable, but a fine student nevertheless. For all her humor she does listen and to thee especially. Ah, already thou maketh a face. Truly, I swear."

"I don't know about that…"

"But then, thou art not a spectator as I am. I see the way she is when I explain the Weave, but it is different with thee. I am a teacher and friend, but thou art family. She is rapt by thy instruction, doubly so when she can connect with thee on a magical level."

Warmth spread across Zanven's cheeks. He brought a hand up, waving away her assertion. "That's just… she's, uh… you're mistaken."

'Don't embarrass yourself,' she says. Hard to do when she did it for him. Didn't even need her around for her to make him feel the fool. This wasn't what he signed up for when Winthrop introduced her to him ages ago. An avatar of mischief plucked from the ether and left to wreak earthly havoc.

"Careful now. Thou art dangerously close to outing thyself as a caring brother."

Ah, so they're in league with each other! No wonder Imoen was 'tired.' An ambush set, springing embarrassment upon him. Zanven clutched Peri, trying to disappear behind the fairy dragon. The traitor buzzed around him, refusing his master's call of need.

"I recognize that same look from mine own sister. Compliments were her weakness too." To his horror, Dynaheir embraced him with an arm around his shoulder. "Kindness cuts as deep as any blade. An apt weapon, no?"

Compliments weren't supposed to sting! He felt as if he were tossed into an oven, and the friendly squeeze she gave him was the door locking shut. The Rashemi was stronger than she let on, something he noted when she refused him the freedom he tried to squirm away to. The feint scent of herbs clung to her, a sweet smell.

There were others around now. More footsteps slapping the cobblestones. Voices chatting amongst themselves, conversations travelling along the wind. The town opened up in his moment of weakness.

Beregost was in on it too!

"If thy heart thumps any faster, it'll burst from thy chest. Breath. Slow and steady."

He did so, the aroma of herbs teasing him as much as she was. Calm continued to elude him, not while he struggled to divert his mind away from the woman's presence at his side. Certainly not while she breathed with him, her chest so close and so ample—_ample?!_—rising and falling with his.

Think! Something, anything!

"M-Minsc. Should he not be here? With you?"

"He remains at the inn at mine request." Dynaheir sighed. "He is a stalwart friend and companion, but sometimes he is too watchful. I do not need a second skin to stroll around town."

"What of J-Jaheira? K-Khalid?"

"They have not returned, to mine knowledge. Though I'd not fret, for they said that would be the case. I believe we have two more in our group, if thou wouldst like to ask about them as well."

"No… I… think I'm fine."

Dynaheir brought them to a halt, clicking her tongue. "I am certain it was this way."

"What was?"

Dynaheir did not answer him, instead her grip tightening; there was no friendliness to her touch. The air thickened, an aura forming around them. She whispered under her breath, all traces of jest in her tone gone. She kept still, time frozen in place as the passing seconds felt like hours. Then all at once the aura dissipated and she guided him along, abruptly changing direction.

"Dynaheir… what is it?"

"I've heard word of a potion maker of some renown living here, but I can't quite remember where her abode lies. I wished to poke around and see her wares."

Her words terse and voice strained, she offered nothing more. She picked up her pace, their stroll no longer relaxed. She had only half-answered his question. The destination she spoke of did not matter to him as much as her change in demeanor.

* * *

Dynaheir scanned the road ahead of her, knowing full well it looped around the set of houses until tapering off into the outskirts of town. There the potion maker resided, though she had no intention of visiting. The errand could wait.

Unfortunate. Word travelled that the woman was proficient at her craft and a talented mage; the rumors didn't afford her husband the same kindness though. A trip for another day.

She tossed a glance over her shoulder. The town square lacked its usual crowd. A few carts sat by the road, merchants tending to their wares. A father watched his children run circles around one while he shopped. A young couple sat by the city's landmark, avoiding the sun's heat in the obelisk's shade. The town crier shouted into the air of Beregost's business, though nobody paid him much attention.

Dynaheir remembered the man following behind them earlier, announcing the town's news to all he passed by. A curious annoyance with the volume of his voice, but overlooked as he had made his way to the town square. She watched him flit from one side of the square to the other, always staying within line of sight. He mingled with his fellow townsfolk, dancing with the children as he passed by and chatting with the resting couple. All the while he'd twitch, a shake of the head here and a turn of the body there to look in their direction.

One such time she knew he made eye contact. The crier excused himself from a merchant's cart and shifted to fully face her. He waved with a smile, took a bow, and disappeared. Nobody registered his absence.

_Found me._

Dynaheir's drew Zanven closer and threw up her wards, eyes searching but finding no trace of the man or the teasing voice in her head. She ignored Zanven's concerns and dragged him along.

"You're determined to get there quicker all of a sudden." Zanven's voice trembled.

"I've only just realized there's more I must accomplish in the day then I had thought." That was hardly convincing, and the boy knew judging from how he twisted in her grip. Still, better to let him sift through the ambiguity before allowing panic to take hold.

She led him opposite of her intended destination, the road bringing them down past another of the town's inn. Painted on the sign before the door was the building's namesake, a clown staring at her with a wide grin. It blew a kiss and winked at her.

_Found me again. Oh, you're good at this game!_

Peri looked from the sign to her, his thin neck swiveling in a double take. Dynaheir brought a finger to her mouth. She then pointed around them. _'Keep watch,' _she mouthed. The fairy dragon nodded, fear glittering in his eyes.

The familiar made a coughing noise, two copies of him winking into existence. The two dragons took to the air, circling above them, as Peri remained by his master.

_I won't let him find me. Only you, sweet lady._

"You guys are quieter… what is going on?" Zanven asked.

"Nothing. I am in a hurry. That is all." Dynaheir spoke quickly, cutting off Peri before he could utter a word. She didn't want him upsetting Zanven.

They crossed paths with a group of men heading toward the Jovial Juggler, one of them suspiciously similar to the crier with his dark hair and upturned lips; that same mocking smile. A row of houses lined the street they followed. Someone watched them from every other window they passed, each head locking onto them and turning one after another.

Feldepost's Inn loomed in the distance. Its sign sported another taunting image, the griffin opening its beak to stick out its tongue at her.

_Quitting already? But you've found me so many times already!_

"You've been shoving me along because you're in a hurry? Something is wrong, I know it!"

"Get inside." Dynaheir pushed him through the entrance, ignoring his protests. She slammed the door behind her.

_Is it my turn to find you now?_

* * *

"Quit ignoring me! What is the problem? Why'd we come back?"

"Upstairs. Now."

Dynaheir raced up the steps to their rooms, Zanven trailing in her wake. She blocked him from passing her at the top, scanning the hallways. Nothing moved. No illusions taunting her.

"Go to Imoen. Place thy trust in me, I will explain when it is safe."

"Safe? Safe from what?" Zanven's pitch rose. "We were being followed weren't we?"

"Go to her and lock the door." Dynaheir pushed him toward his room and marched down the other hallway to her room. She flung open the door, startling her ward.

"Dynaheir! You have the look of an angry spirit." Minsc reached for his blade. "Tell me who has insulted my witch, so that Minsc may show them his fury!"

"Where is Edwin?"

Was he so brazen to act against her companions already? There was little time to discern his game. No doubt he had already fled after setting that stranger upon them.

"Is it that fiend?" Minsc thundered out and down the hallway. Dynaheir followed him to the wizard's lodging, where the berserker rained blows upon Edwin's door. "Come out so that you may receive the boot of justice!"

"What is it now?" Edwin's face appeared in the crack of his doorway, scrunched up in a tight scowl. "Have you finally tired of my presence enough that you've set up my execution?"

Dynaheir narrowed her eyes. "That could very well be arranged. What spawn hast thou set upon me?"

Edwin shook his head. "(Is she under a fit of madness?) I am at a loss for whatever it is that vexes you, witch. I am quite sure of what currently vexes me however."

"Thou alludeth to heaping trouble upon me and mine companions and not days later we've a stalker at our heels. Spare me thy innocence. If thou art a man, then step out of thy trickery and answer me true."

She heaved a breath, anger blasting the air from her lungs. Her hands quivered at her side, itching to wrap around Edwin's neck for his duplicity. Minsc mirrored her, a miracle he had not already barged in and dealt with the Red Wizard.

Confusion crossed Edwin's face. "What accusation are you tossing out? I've no part in your problem. (Though I feel I must commend whoever this stalker is for upsetting her so.)"

_Wrong. Oh so wrong! But I'm right. Here he is!_

Wood splintered from the other hall, followed by Imoen and Zanven's screams. Dynaheir took hold of the front of Edwin's robes and ran toward the disturbance, Minsc charging in tow. "Make use of thyself!"

Minsc surged through the broken door, only to fly out into a heap on the ground. Black shapes crawled from the room in pursuit, shifting with every step. Dynaheir threw up a powder and her words brought forth a flash around the shadows. Those not writhing on the floor turned away, the light burning holes in their skin. Minsc rose to his feet, unperturbed by what repulsed him.

"What have you dragged me into?" Edwin shouted. More of the creatures skittered toward them. A volley of burning darts shot from his sleeves, smoke hissing on impact. "(I'll not be brought down by her folly!)

Chanting came to her lips before a retort, another flash allowing them to push into the room. Horrors roiled along the walls and ceiling, tentacles thrashing and mouths gibbering; which of the Nine Hells had they stumbled into? Imoen huddled in the corner wailing. Zanven lay on his bed, restrained by the shadows as if on a sacrificial altar. The town crier stood over him, an axe poised overhead.

"No!" Dynaheir launched an orb through the mass of monstrosities, knocking the weapon from his hand. The flick of his wrist brought another to bear. He spared her a look, neck twisting at an impossible angle to mock her with a grin. His eyes gleamed.

_Wait your turn. Death will come for thee next._

She collapsed with her head in her hands as the room blurred around her. Her limbs felt like stone. Lifting her head, her breath caught in her throat. A familiar skull gazed at her. The creature cradled her chin in its claw. Tears slid down her cheeks as terror pierced her heart. How had it returned?

_Such an interesting fear. Easy now, embrace it._

The assassin's voice cooed in her ears as if whispering right beside her. Dynaheir could make him out still, the axe rising and falling; a scream accompanied its descent. A furious shout went up. More hissing. Sobbing interspersed with calls to the arcane.

"Now is not the time for cowering!" Edwin's voice spat its acid. "Come out of your fright! The girl I can understand, but I thought better of you!"

Did he not see the beast? What could she do to it? Her mouth moved to ask him, but only a garbled cry tumbled from her lips. The creature cupped her head in both claws.

_Nothing,_ the voice answered. _Be a dear and let your doom run its course._

Pressure closed in on her, pain erupting in her head. Again the axe rose and fell. She made out a spray of red misting the air. The assassin laughed, delighted by his handiwork. A third time he prepared to strike, but his arm caught in the air.

_What is this? I was not warned of this!_

The claws no longer held her and the pain dissipated. Her vision cleared enough to see the creature turned toward the assassin, its claw wrenching back the axe. The manifestations crowding the room wavered. Zanven sat up, a bloody arm raised. A golden haze glimmered around him.

* * *

There had been no warning before the Hells overwhelmed their room. Zanven had screamed with Imoen, fear seeping through his skin. The bed became a prison, clammy flesh rooting his arms and legs in place. A devil laughed, enjoying his terror.

A cacophony drilled into his head: Minsc's war cry as ferocious as ever; Dynaheir's incantations like hymns to Mystra; screeches of pain from no earthly source; and Edwin—Edwin's hollering?

The Weave coursed around him, ebbing and flowing as so many plucked at its strings. He reached for it, wriggling his fingers as if to pinch the magic from the air. He could feel it building within him, spells uncast coursing through his veins. A sensation followed his call, threatening to burst outward in his defense.

He howled as his arm sliced open. Flesh and bone split, pain unimaginable. Blood oozed from the wound, a river of his essence spilling out.

Through it something called to him. Feint as a whisper, it begged for his command.

Again his arm crumbled under assault. Steel's bite threatened to sever his limb. He tried to pull free from his binding to no avail, unable to defend himself.

The pleading intensified. Now it bellowed for orders, a hateful demand, and Zanven found he could give what it wanted. Clinging to desperation, newfound strength enabled him to rip free from his bonds. He lifted his mangled arm, feeling the axe in his hand, and seized it away.

A violent crack went through the air, putting an end to the devil's laughter. Zanven moved his other arm outward until he touched a body. He trailed skin and cloth with his fingers and then shoved his hand forward, bursting through as if nothing was there.

Never before had he heard a cry so tantalizing.

Who dabbled in fear now, devil?

Zanven brought his hands together in a wide arc and thrust forward again. A snap, like branches breaking, and a squelch, like boots stepping in mud. The cry stopped for good; a shame really.

Satisfaction brimmed inside him. He knew he fulfilled its demand. It whispered again, of thanks and congratulations, and left him.

* * *

Author's Notes: Moving seems to throw a wrench in writing plans for a bit it seems. That and video games... yeah, they tend to do that too.

I was midway into writing Zanven's stroll around town when I was reminded of Winding Warpath's _Death's Favored Daughter_ and its latest few chapters. Gave me a good laugh thinking on how the tone of that scene could change real quick if it involved some more shapeshifters. Though Dynaheir ain't as ruthless as some other Wychlaran out there (Looking at you, Sheilaktar: a tough love mentor in Kyn's _Surthay_)


	18. Chapter 18

"Get up."

Edwin touched her shoulder. Dynaheir flinched away. Impatient, he grabbed a handful of her robe and wrenched her to her feet.

"This fight of yours is over. (I had thought her will far more resolute.)" He tiptoed around the room, careful to avoid what was left of the assassin's corpse. The Thayvian shot her a look, brow raised. "I do hope you have an explanation prepared."

Dynaheir rubbed her eyes, head swimming. The hellish landscape was gone, replaced with normalcy. She shuddered; so too was the beast from her vision.

In its wake remained carnage. The assassin lay twisted on the ground, a broken heap of bone and flesh. She had watched him pulled apart as if a fly losing its wings. He had lost control of the monstrosity he summoned from her mind. It turned on him without a struggle, a creature beyond his power.

Her stomach roiled at inspecting the corpse further and she focused on Zanven. He sat up, leaning back against the headboard of the bed. Blood soaked through his sleeve, the wounded arm cradled in his lap. He had not laid a hand on the assassin, yet had mimicked the beast's rending motions.

A marionette with a new master, so close were their movements…

A halo burned above him, the source of the wavering illumination. He poked at his injury, head bent as if toying with a curiosity. A ghost of a smirk hung on his lips and then he looked straight forward at her, a dull glow behind the blindfold.

Even with the cloth and his blindness, Dynaheir felt his stare pierce through her. His smirk grew; a tease behind the smile. Confusion then wiped his look away and his face crumpled. Agony escaped him in a moan.

Dynaheir shot forward. "See to Imoen. Make sure she is fine."

"You expect me to clean up this mess you brought upon us? (Is it not enough for her that she had my aid in the first place?)"

She glared at Edwin with all the savageness she could muster. He met her gaze with that practiced ferocity of his own, brows knitted in a scowl. Time stood still, their resolves locking horns.

"I am owed an explanation as to why my life was thrust into this danger you conjured up. Talk, witch, or I'll not lift a finger."

Dynaheir sighed, glancing down at Zanven's wound. Her pride could afford to surrender this battle. There were more important matters at hand.

"I cannot assuage thy concerns whilst mine friends lay bleeding and weeping." Dynaheir held up a finger to preempt his complaints. "Help me attend to them first and then we shall… talk."

* * *

Small feet pattered across the library floor, tentative but determined. The child stopped at a shelf, running his fingers over the books he could reach. He explored the spines, indecision holding him back. He moved his head toward his shoulder every time he touched a tome, anticipating shrill disapproval until finding the right one; a positive squeak and he pulled it down with all the caution a child could muster.

"Have you found it then?" a voice asked, tenderness wrapped around the man's every word. The boy nodded as his familiar yipped in agreement. The man sighed, chair creaking as he sat down. He patted his leg. "Let's have a look then, shall we?"

A smile split across the child's face and he scuttled over. On the tips of his toes, he pushed the book onto the table. Scales brushed his cheek as his familiar hopped up too. He turned toward the man after assured the tome was safe, arms up and waiting. A chuckle caused him to cock his head.

His arms lowered for a moment, confused. What did he do that was so funny? His ears perked, listening for anything else around, but heard nothing except for traces of monks' conversations floating through the halls. Imoen wasn't around either so it couldn't have been her…

Anxious, he raised his arms higher and wiggled his fingers. He fought his falling sleeves, trying to keep them from slipping and bunching around his elbows. Strong hands grasped him by the waist and he lifted from the floor onto a knee. He leaned into the man, nestled in the flowing robe.

"Are you my audience for tonight? Just you and Peri?" The man ruffled his hair. "I think I'm one child short."

Alarm set in. Zanven pulled the man's arm away and onto the book with a firm thud. "No. Papa, read for just me. She says books're dumb," he hesitated, balling up a fist and rapped the tabletop, "but… but that's 'cause she's dumb!"

His father pulled him in closer, bouncing his knee. "Troubles adjusting to eachother still, huh? I'm sure time will bring you two closer. We'll have a word then later together, to clear up what is and isn't dumb"—he pinched Zanven's ear—"and what we do and do not call others."

"Sorry…"

Zanven adjusted on his father's lap, curling against the arm that moved to open the book. Pages rustled as his father flipped through them. "Hmm, yes, this'll do. Let me tell you of the Shining Lands and their belief in Adama."

"Ada… ma? Is he like Oghma?"

"Yes and no." His father's tone lifted and Zanven smiled; Papa always sounded like that before telling his tales. "Oghma is Adama and Adama is Oghma. It is everything. Our gods, us, and the world. In life, we all strive to be a part of it through a series of many lives, living as little ones like you or as old ones like me. Even as animals too."

Zanven's mouth opened in awe. "Animals! I could be a… a… big bear! And Imoen could be a teeny mouse!"

"Ah, but each life directs your next. To be an animal means you did not learn enough from your past. Each is a path toward improvement of yourself through respecting others that make up Adama."

Being an animal was bad then? So he'd just need to be something else and be Adama. Be nice and not be an animal and—

"Oh! Oh… so Adama wouldn't call Imoen dumb…"

"Precisely. Speak, act, and live rightfully with others. Doing so can be difficult at times, but that is why it involves many lives to learn." His father tapped his forehead. "Mindfulness and concentration are your best tools in this effort."

Zanven smiled and scrunched up his face in exaggerated concentration. A thought came to him though that flipped his grin around. "If I live bunches o' times… then does that mean I die too?"

He was wrapped up in a hug. "There are many lives and deaths, all part of a cycle." The hug tightened. "As we are given the breath of life, so too must we eventually have the gasp of death. There cannot be one without the other, my child."

Zanven squirmed, uncomfortable in the arms smushing him. "Papa… you're hurting me."

"Adama would be incomplete without death. How can anybody learn without taking its hand along the path?"

"I don't like this story anymore…" His father's grip turned to needles biting his skin. The robe he snuggled into engulfed him, all tenderness lost. "Please tell me another…"

"How can they learn without taking my hand… _your_ hand!"

"Papa, please stop! Let me go!"

He was falling, limbs flailing as he screamed. He splashed into water and the rushing river pressed him onward. He swung his arms around, each arc more difficult to move then the last. The water—no, not water; water did not stick, did not cling to bring him under. Water was not an ooze that choked the life out of him.

Light flared above him and serenity coaxed him to fight to keep his head up. A force tingled at his hands, pulling him against the flow. A surge of energy poured through him, erupting from his back. Some new set of limbs flapped, lifting him from the river's maw: wings, each struggling with mighty strokes to bring him freedom.

With a final gasp for air interrupted, freedom withered away and he plunged beneath the churning liquid. A malevolent warmth filled him and his lungs burned. He screamed anew, each time the liquid flooding within him, until he burst.

* * *

"Stay away from him while he heals."

"Calm your feathers, Mother Hen. (As if I'm some boogie monster preparing to feast…)"

Dynaheir kept an eye on Edwin as he paced away from the cot Zanven lay on. The boy tossed and turned, caught in the throes of a fit. Each convulsion caused her to wince. The soft serenades echoing through the temple's chambers did nothing to ease her mind as she watched his spasms. Kelddath had done what he could; now they were in Time's hands, naught else to do but wait as the priest's calls reaped their divine answer.

"A blessing, I suppose, that the girl suffered no injuries. Our ears suffer no longer too, now that her senses are back. Gods, the stuttering fool and that hawk he's chained to would have our heads on pikes if we lost both of them."

Dynaheir gritted her teeth. "We've lost neither of them nor will we." She willed Edwin silent and for a moment he complied. She rose from her chair when Edwin started back toward Zanven.

"Odd, isn't it? Every time he thrashes that light flashes around him. (That Mulhorandi gift, yet…)" Edwin looked at her, eyes boring into hers. "Similar to the same one that he summoned up when that murderer caved in on himself. I have seen my fair share of magical torture, but is it not strange for a man to just fold up and tear apart by an unseen force?"

A wave of disgust washed over Dynaheir; that force was not so unseen as he thought. She fled back to her perch and Edwin followed, taking a seat across from her at the small table. He was a hound sniffing out his quarry, all too eager to chase the scent of blood.

"Stranger still that the boy's arms moved along with every contraction." Edwin leaned forward, hiding his face behind his steepled hands. "Why was he the target of this failed assassin? Do not stare at me like I uncovered some great secret. I am smart enough to know the difference between a random act of murder and a bounty." Edwin untangled his fingers to reach within his robe, pulling out a blood-stained paper and pushing it forward. "Especially so when I read the bounty from the hunter's corpse."

Dynaheir snatched up the paper, eyes scanning it over. She frowned. "I do not know."

"That is how you wish to play? Your stubborness is one thing, but do not insult me by feigning ignorance!"

"Edwin, I do not know. No tantrum of thine wilt pull an answer from me." She leaned away when Edwin reached forward for the bounty, holding it at arm's length.

He settled back down, fuming. "Someone in this miserable collective must know. The boy or his sister, maybe their damnable wards that tossed them onto us... or…" Deviousness flashed through his eyes and he bared his teeth.

"Or what?"

"This bounty promised a hefty reward. I'm certain those who want him dead would provide me their reasons."

Dynaheir's chair clattered to the floor as she rose. Motes of energy swarmed around her hands and blasted forward. The wave upended the table and sent Edwin spinning. Sparks flashed around him, his amulet glowing, and he pushed himself to a knee. His own hands were outstretched. Her heart hammered in her chest; a primal part of her demanded an end to the Thayan threat here and now.

She spoke, her words slow and deliberate. "Thou walketh on the thinnest of ice."

A cloud of rage passed over the Red Wizard, only to be calmed with great effort. Edwin's spells winked out and he held his palms up. "A crude jest. (I do so tire of these nonanswers…)" He rose to his feet, pulling the table and his chair back in place. He sighed. "Let us try something different. Tell me what you _do_ know."

Dynaheir returned to her seat, struggling to bring back civility. "We were followed while walking in town. He is hunted and assassins seek his head. Why?" She waved her hand, at a loss. "He will tell thee the same, I assure thee. There will be no interrogations when he wakes."

Edwin stroked his chin, his gaze flicking over to Zanven. "He is no psionist and the intricasies of the Weave are far beyond him… yet it was his will that crushed his assassin. That I do not doubt."

A chill went up Dynaheir's spine. How could the teenager's will control that beast? How could it have been him that left his assassin a mutilated corpse? Having seen more than Edwin though, it was foolish to think otherwise.

"Come. Look." Edwin stood up took her hand, crossing the room. He pointed at Zanven's arm, the skin mended the best to Keldath's ability. "(I had suspected as much.) For all that cleric's can do, we did not immediately bring him here with his mangled arm. Odd, no?"

The axe had split through his arm and had bled enough to leave little doubt he'd not have the same use of the limb ever again. The priest had warned them as such; for all the miracles the clergy could pray for, their powers had limits.

Dynaheir reached out, tentative fingers trailing where the priest had set the wound. There was a scar stretching across his forearm and she could feel the uneven bone beneath. His skin felt warm, an unusual vigor to it. She had expected frailty, but the mends were not pallid or wrinkled. Zanven groaned and twitched.

Dynaheir brought her hand back, warmth flooding her cheeks. She was not like Edwin; she would not hover over Zanven as if he were a specimen for study. She cleared her throat, receiving a look from Edwin. "Peculiar, yes, but for all mine piety the realm of the divine exceeds me."

"He will be able to use that arm again in spite of, not because of the priest." Edwin strayed by Zanven, concentration creasing his forehead. "There is more to the sorcery in his blood. Certainly more to the aasimar than his shoddy spells and illumination."

"More to the what?"

"The aasimar, I said." Edwin regarded her with annoyance at having to repeat himself. Annoyance shifted to confusion. "What is with your perplexity? Wait. (Could she not tell?)"

Dynaheir narrowed her eyes. "Tell what? What do I not know?"

Edwin stared at her without any hint of his Thayan animosity. He smiled in bewilderment, shaking his head; true humor, cruel in a childish way far removed from the Red Wizard. "Of the aasimon and their kin. (Gods, the witch truly does not know of them! The boy, sure, but her?) I had thought you prided yourself on all this knowledge these dajemmas brought back to your mudholes?"

She crossed her arms, flustered by Edwin's ridicule, far more honest than usual. "I have never presumed to know everything. That is a page from thy book, not mine."

"(Why would she, I suppose. She's not Mulani.)" He chuckled with another shake of his head, taking his seat across from her.

Dynaheir rolled her eyes. "Thou wilt not clear up mine confusion?"

"Oh, of course not!" Another laugh; Dynaheir resisted the urge not to sock him in the face, almost prefering his normal disdain to return. "Perhaps when you are ready to trade mysteries, I may change my tune."

Dynaheir shifted to not face him, instead keeping her gaze on Zanven. Let the malcontent have his laugh. She blocked out his laughter, only paying Edwin attention when there was a knock at the door. They exchanged glances when it opened.

"Excuse me," a woman said. Dynaheir recognized her as the Flaming Fist officer that had questioned them about the ambush, and Kelddath stood next to her, his mouth pursed in a grim line. She signaled for the two of them come outside. "I would have a word with you, if you please."

Dynaheir let Edwin go on ahead of her and closed the door behind them. She heard the mercenary mutter under her breath something unpleasant about Feldepost's Inn as they marched into another room within the temple.

* * *

"Do we have to leave already?"

"It is an unfortunate necessity. I have been promised somewhere safer for us to reside."

Imoen kicked a stone ahead of her as the group left Beregost behind them, eyes downcast. She watched Zanven trudge along at her side, spirits so low he could trip on them. Hadn't said more than a few words to her since he came to. One of those moods again.

"What about Khalid and Jaheira? They come back and we'll be gone. They'll worry up a storm."

"The Flaming Fist will notify them of our whereabouts," Dynaheir said, sympathy leaking from her words. "We are disappearing only from your hunters."

"They couldn't find us somewhere safe to hide in town?" Imoen knocked the stone off of the path. "Seems to me like we're being tossed out. Like they don't want nothing to do with us here."

They were given enough time to rest up and lick their wounds. Allowed to make sure they weren't dead and then sent packing. Weren't their faults someone wanted to cause trouble because of them just existing.

"Kelddath and the Fist are worried."

"Oh yeah? Worried for who? Certainly don't seem like it's for us. S'not fair."

"They wish to avoid stirring up a panic. The banditry has everybody on edge, even more so with that… assassin's death. I was assured that the Friendly Arm will offer refuge due to the circumstances." Dynaheir held up a scroll, the mercenary group's insignia stamped alongside the seal of Beregost. "It will be safer."

"There was one of them there too." Zanven's voice was subdued. "What if they just find me again?"

"Then you will fight them off or die," Edwin said, words flying from his mouth before Dynaheir opened hers. "What pride is there in scurrying beneath one rock right after another? If they come, end them until they learn otherwise. You've naught else to do, floating in this cloud of incertitude of yours. (How someone cannot know the reason for their own bounty is ludicrous.)"

Imoen saw Zanven grimace; a spark of that fury he had with Edwin last time rekindled. She pulled him closer to her and leveled a finger at Edwin. "Lay off! We're not like you. We don't wanna throw fireballs at all our problems!"

"I'd rather the world burn than bury myself under negligence," Edwin said. "Look over your shoulder in fear for the rest of your days then, all because you cannot value your own life over your hunters."

Zanven went stiff in her embrace, and Imoen's heart skipped a beat; he wasn't gonna lose it again, was he? He shook his head, hostility receding from his frown. Sadness replaced anger. "I don't know what to do…"

"Thou hast drenched us in enough acid," Dynaheir said. She ushered Imoen and Zanven away from the wizard. "Paranoia will not be anybody's master. I promise safety."

"You're sure Khalid and Jaheira will know where we're staying?" Imoen asked. Dynaheir nodded, and Imoen saw some of Zanven's tension ease up. "And this paper's gonna make sure we're lodged up in luxury, on the Fist's orders?"

"It says…" Dynaheir faltered before recovering with a knowing smile. "Yes. Absolutely. We shall find rooms and a banquet befitting the nobility that we are."

Imoen stuck up her nose. "Good. I expect a prompt hot bath, the finest wine, and a host of servants ready to wait on me when we arrive." A giggle escaped her pompous accent.

"Rest assured I lobbied for only the best in our names," Dynaheir said.

Zanven's frown wavered. Not quite a smile, but it would do.

Imoen whistled. "You know… I never heard the story of how those errands went the other day. Forgot to ask, being busy having my life saved and all. I miss anything exciting, eh?" Imoen elbowed Zanven's side.

Tension returned to Zanven, though under a different guise. He coughed, voice shaky. "I-i-it is—"

"—a perfect story for the road," Dynaheir said, silencing Zanven with a squeeze of his shoulder.

"I'm all ears!"

* * *

"We've a big enough place here, that's for sure. Come along, follow ol' Gellana. Let's get you two situated." The old gnome hopped through the keep's halls with vitality unexpected for her age.

Imoen looked all around them as they moved through the innards of the Friendly Arm Inn. She had thought just from the ground floor the place was huge, but even with the upper floors that was nothing compared to the confusing maze the gnome led them through. So much for guests already, yet so much more unseen.

"How is this place so huge?" Imoen asked.

"Villains do love their grand castles, dear," Gellana said, ushering Imoen and Zanven through the door at the end. "Was a right mess to clean up too. Beasties, undead, cultists… just a hell of a time, I tell ya. All worth it though. We've made it our little hovel, Bentley and I."

Imoen and Zanven stood in the doorway. The room had a cozy feel to it; odd considering it was nestled within the inn, away from the lodging for travelers. It had all the simple furnishings of any other inn room: a couple of beds, chests, dressers, and a desk.

"Right here, under the bed? Still charred from when I smote a demon we had to sniff out. I've been trying to fix the floor for decades and haven't won the battle yet," Gellana said, moving around the room. She stopped by a statue standing in the corner. "This guy here? Almost ate up my husband if it weren't for a quick petrification."

Imoen did a double take, eyes widening at the statue the woman laid a hand on. It stood a head taller than her, reared back and standing on its hind legs. The wolfen creature's jaws were open, stuck in a silent roar.

Gellana beckoned them over and set their hands on the statue's underbelly. She chuckled at their surprise. "Damndest thing, huh? Even after all these years the hound's still warm as the brimstone it used to spit. Nice to stand next to when Nightal's chill comes a blowin'."

"It won't… uh, come out of it, will it?" Zanven asked, his hand retreating.

"No worries about that. It's been a decoration for longer than you two've lived, I bet."

Imoen rubbed her arm, looking around the room. "No demons neither, right?"

"Nope. Nothing of the sort." Gellana laughed. "All's left are just reminders of a couple of old gnomes' adventures." She patted each of their hands, soft sincerity replacing her jovialness. "Make yourselves at home. Friendliness here goes a lot further than coin when it needs to."

Gellana shut the door behind her, leaving the two of them alone. Imoen moved to one of the beds, quick to drop her pack on the floor and toss of her boots. She lay down on her stomach, head in her hands. She watched Zanven linger by the statue while his familiar snooped around the room.

"Gonna have nightmares about it eating ya?"

Zanven turned, brow furrowed. An angry retort died in a mumble. "No… at least I hope not." He slunk to the floor and rested his head between his knees. "I wish they'd just stop."

Imoen sat up, crossing her legs beneath her. Peri landed on the bed near her, looking between his master and her; the creature was all but an extension of Zanven and still he looked confused with his master's mood. She smiled, willing up cheer for the three of them, and made a shooing motion toward Zanven until the fairy dragon settled next to him. Zanven budged, stroking his familiar's back.

"It's not real. None of them dreams ever are," Imoen said. "Mind just likes to mess with ya when your guard is down."

Zanven tore off his blindfold and blinked, eyes cloudy and yellow; no shine though like when he lost it on Edwin. He covered his face, sighing into his hand. "They aren't normal. They hurt …"

"A good thing you have this healing thing down pat. Head bashed in once and arms beat up twice. A real bless—"

"Yeah, a real blessing… it's real pain, Imoen!" His composure cracked and he sucked in a breath. "I don't feel like me in my dreams, like something is just trapped in my skin. I'm just some coat it wants to shrug off."

Imoen wrung the blanket in her fingers. She kept her gaze down. "This something what riled you up before? Made your eyes bleed and made you crazy?"

Zanven nodded, bringing Peri closer to him. Nausea drained the color from his face. "I've had them after the assassins. The one's that hurt me, after killing them."

The recent assassin's corpse came to her, the memory blurred by recovering from the horrors he put in her head. She had assumed it was Minsc's handy work, jumping to their defense in one his rages. It had looked like a wild animal tore the man apart though. Her stomach knotted up, struggling to believe what he implied.

"It's not just while I sleep… at the jail, I felt something there. When Tiax touched me it felt even worse, and around Edwin…" Another steadying breath, in and out. His voice dropped to a whisper. "What am I…"

Imoen slid off the bed and sat with him on the floor. She leaned against him. "You're my brother."

* * *

Credus coughed and Khalid's head whipped around, eyes wide. Jaheira mimicked his alertness. Nothing moved around them. Tents on the outskirts of the camp sat in silence, save for feint snores floating on the breeze.

Khalid drew a breath. A blessing, that. On the end of camp or not, making too much noise could rouse the bandits to their presence.

Credus held his hands up, guilt written over his face. He withered under Jaheira's glare. "I didn't mean to make noise, I swear! The cave stinks 'cause of the dogs. Smells rotten enough to make the gods puke!" He gagged. "The Hells did they roll around—"

"Be quiet!" Jaheira hissed, marching up to the boy. She grabbed him by his shoulder and pushed him toward the cave. "Get in there."

"They'll… they'll eat me!"

"Korax would envy them then," Tiax said with a cackle. Jaheira was quick to shush him.

"You will move… _now_," Jaheira said, a storm brewing beneath her whisper.

Credus jumped, following Jaheira's order; his fear of the gnolls crumbled in the face of her anger. He led the way with slow steps, constantly turning to throw pitiful stares at them. Khalid made sure to follow him closer than the others, raising his sword in acknowledgement every time he looked back. He wouldn't allow such cruelty to befall the boy, bandit or not.

A low whine emanated from further in. Credus skipped back, teeth chattering. Khalid put a hand to his shoulder, ushering him behind him.

"Pinkling game stupid!"

"Not when Ludrug learn!"

There was a lazy growl. "Rules dumb and cards small… and Ingot always win! Ludrug champion, not Ingot!"

"Ludrug can get better! Let's try again." Chains clanked over the shuffling of cards. "Okay, Ingot starts this time. Hit me." There was a thud and a whine.

The gnoll barked out a laugh, but stopped. He sniffed at the air, growling in warning. "What pinklings and gobs want now?"

As Credus said, there were four of them. Ludrug and Ingot crouched by one another, huddled over a deck of cards. The other gnolls lay off to the side, roused awake by their leader's voice. All of them looked thinner and grime caked their matted fur. Malnourished and dirtier than before, Khalid recognized them.

Ludrug rose, kicking the cards aside. He rattled his chained arms in their direction, bound but no less intimidating. "We tired! Bother gnolls later, pinklings!"

Ingot scrabbled across the ground, piling up the cards. "Shh! This one the good one. Creedy taught Ingot cards. Ludrug can't eat him." He sat back up, tail wagging. The gnoll's head cocked to the side with a lopsided grin. "Those are not… the other pinklings here. Not gobs either."

Credus walked out from behind Khalid with a wave. "I, ah... hey there. Still liking my cards, huh?" Ingot nodded, excited, while Ludrug crossed his arms. "I brought some company."

Jaheira stepped forward. "As I had thought, strange as it is. Do you not remember us?"

The four sets of eyes peered at them, staring at the group with a mixture of confusion and fury. Familiarity spread across them like wildfire. Ingot hopped over to Ludrug, pawing at his shoulder. "We know them! They helped get rid of Red Man!"

Ludrug pushed Ingot away. "Helpful pinklings… why here? To make fun of Ludrug for weakness? No different than pinkling slavers!"

"There is n-no humor to be f-found here," Khalid said. He strode as close as he dared, holding the gnolls' gazes. "We share a mutual c-cause."

Ludrug gave him a blank look. He turned to convene with Ingot in a whisper, nodding and regarding Khalid. "What that?"

"Your slavers are our f-foes," Khalid said.

"We helped each other once already," Jaheira said, "and, while I desire better circumstances, I know we can help one another again."

Ludrug swerved his head around, not appearing to find whatever it was he scanned for. "Where the big pinkling? We make deal, we fight first." The hunger for a rematch burned in his eyes.

"Our companion is not with us, but we can still give you a fight. You desire freedom, no?" Jaheira asked, receiving growls in response. She looked to Khalid and he nodded; he understood her unspoken words, finalizing the route they were heading down. "We shall see those chains removed in exchange for help against the bandits. There are more than enough of them to satiate your hunger for battle."

Credus gawked at them. He looked back and forth between Khalid and Jaheira, fear written over his face. "You can't do that! These monsters can't go free!"

"Ludrug want that one first." The gnoll pointed at Credus and gnashed his teeth. The bandit jumped back, losing his balance and skittering away.

Ingot stepped up to Ludrug, puffing out his chest. The bravery was unlike him. "Ludrug can't have him! Creedy part of clan now. He hairless gnoll."

Credus didn't seem to think much of the gnoll sticking up for him. He did breathe a sigh of relief when Ludrug shook his head in annoyance rather than anger.

"This one is the exception,"Jaheira said. "The others are all yours for the taking."

"You're mad, "Credus said.

Jaheira silenced him with an upheld finger. "Do. Not. Speak… or I will revoke your protection."

Ludrug held his chained hands up and the other gnolls followed suit. "Freedom good. Dead slavers better."

* * *

Author's Notes: Kinda funny seeing two years pass by already, and here I am only 18 chapters later... but it's been a fun little excursion, I'll give it that.

Wasn't quite sure the angle I wanted to go with the dream, but figured the scholar-parent that Gorion was, he could make a lesson out anything, whether it's talking about a foreign land's belief systems or not; at least before Bhaal butts in. That one's not quite as fatherly, I'd wager. From what it seemed, Adama's pretty much Faerunian Buddhism, which struck me as neat, if not a little ripped straight from reality and plopped into Faerun.

I'll have to get around to exploring childhood escapades in Candlekeep in the future. That seems ripe for a good set of one-shots!


	19. Chapter 19

Orders from the bossy one! How dare she, the vile woman! Cyric bestowed her nothing, except her measly life, and it was in his hands to take it back if he pleased. She was a pawn amongst many. Let her believe the ruse of her importance, though only for as long as her eye for spreading strife in the bandits' camp of maggots lasted.

Tiax grunted, hidden in the darkness of the tent. A prayer floated from his lips, and he drew a sigil in the dirt with his finger. He cupped the symbol, quick to blot out the flash of light. The snoring around him continued.

Good. Stupid long-legged monkey-spankers! Let them rest, unaware that their existence would soon be snuffed out. Fools for the slaughter, nothing more than insects under his boot.

He creeped out, one last look over his shoulder at another oblivious tent of victims. His hand itched at his side, fingers around his club.

One. Just one. His heart swelled for all this trickery, but there was something special about caving in the skulls of the nonbelievers. Personally squashing heresy, his weapon painted a beautiful red…

His sight went black and he turned, weapon raised. "No, Tiax cannot!" He recoiled in disgust, hissing under his breath. "There will be others, and then the grass-muncher will not hold back Tiax's might!"

Moonlight cast a glow across the wooded camp. Tiax knelt down to the ground, digging through his pack—ah, there it was! He pulled out an assortment of lumps, all covered beneath a cloth.

Not all trickery required spiritual aid, though it was no less divine in his Lord's eyes. Tiax cradled his tools as if they were his children. Each served a purpose, from blinding powders to poisoned blades; an assassin's arsenal yearning for murder. Giddiness flowed through him at the coming mayhem he would sow.

This was stealth at its finest, whether or not it went appreciated; although perhaps the girl would respect it. A greenhorn in his shadow, but she had it in her to understand the work behind his art. Nimble hands and light steps she had already, but where was the blood thirst? The madness to her mischief?

In time perhaps. The seed was there, just needing a gardener to attend to it. He could nurture it and watch it grow. Witness the deadly rose bloom brighter than the previous failure under his care. What chaos could dance from her finger tips, if only she had the will?

Another child for Cyric. A chance at redemption…

Blast her! No, she was nothing, a cheery, babbling buffoon! An insolent welp good for taking care of his slippers and washing his undergarments when the world bowed before him! A minion and nothing more!

Tiax shook his head and doubled down on attending to his tools. A tune came to him and he muttered it quietly as he worked. Let such thoughts wither away, banished from his brain. They reeked of weakness. Tiax did not need another.

* * *

Where was the gnome? They didn't have all night. He had already wasted enough time just listening to her. Not a word went by that he didn't complain about or question. If it didn't fit his delusion of grandeur than it deserved none of his attention.

Disgust twisted Jaheira's face into a frown. Tiax's temperament made spinning his logic around on him a monumental effort; barter tasks with him, egging him on with the details of what his gruesome skill set could achieve, and he'd fall in line only after changing the narrative. As he so loudly proclaimed repeatedly, he did things because _he_ wanted to.

A lowly creature if there ever was one.

"The slaughter is set," Tiax said, dipping out from the darkness as he snuck back to the cave. "They are doomed souls awaiting the light of the Black Sun."

"And none knew of your presence?" Jaheira asked. She rolled her eyes at the glare she received.

"No eyes fall upon Tiax without his permission! Doubting your betters is a punishable offense," Tiax shook a fist at her. "Count those blessings you grovel for from your false god, for they will mean nothing when I am master!"

The start of a headache pulsed in her temple. Jaheira's fingers tightened around her staff. A quick blow was all it would take, just a single one to his head and he'd be done. Anything more would only serve to expend the frustration he caused by opening his mouth.

"Credus, come here." Judging by how the boy jumped and slinked over, her patience was well past the brink. "You spoke of your leaders. Do they still reside in this cesspool?"

"Last I knew they were around, but I mean, you don't want to trouble them. You'll be on spikes right next to the elves."

"Elves?" Jaheira leveled a stare at Credus and he cowered at the fury in her clipped tone.

"One was Tazok's p-plaything. She… didn't last long." Shame formed a cloud around the bandit. "She meant something to the other, and Tazok enjoyed seeing him pained that he could do nothing for her. Tortured him for a while too until he was bored. Let him go, but he came back one night, vengeance on his mind… The ogre won't ever be forgetting him, but the elf won't ever be remembering anything."

"And this was what you sought instead of honest work for your family?" Jaheira resisted the urge to shake the boy until he fell apart in her grip. "You'd rather languish beneath monsters while they murder their way along the Coast?"

"I told you I didn't kill nobody! I'm nothing to them, just a dimwitted lookout!"

"Where are they?"

"There's a big tent, further in camp… I kept people outta there, on Tazok's orders."

Jaheira signaled to Tiax. "Investigate the head of this serpent. I pray you do not let your permission leak."

"Doubt my divinity one more time, woman!" Tiax stalked off on her orders, grumbling his way out of the cave.

Jaheira called to Silvanus for aid before glancing at Credus."You are not aware of the extent of the troubles I bring."

Credus moved away from her to the deepest part of the cave.

* * *

Even after constant reminders, no quiet came from their presence. The gnolls moved with growls and yips, only minding him with disinterested glares. Khalid sighed.

Wishful thinking at its finest to have thought he could keep them in line. At least they moved through the brush, keeping to the outskirts of the camp.

"Why we in forest?" Ludrug asked, stamping the ground. "There is no fight here. No fighting mean no killing."

Sets of teeth bared around him and Khalid gripped his blade, arms up and legs apart. Nervous eyes shifted from one beast to another. "P-patience, p-please. Our enemy is numerous, so it is imperative we stick to our p-plan. We must even the odds first."

"There are more pinklings than us," Ingot said. "He is right."

Ludrug pushed the smaller gnoll away and stomped ahead. Khalid let out a breath. He feared their patience had ran its course at the promise of vengeance. Captivity had not been kind to them, but had the four of them turned on him…

Khalid shook his head, keen to keep his sword and shield ready. The group continued on through the woods until Khalid alerted them to halt. Snorts came from up ahead and as the trees thinned, cattle and horses milled around inside a rickety pen.

Scanning their surroundings showed no bandits around so Khalid strode into the enclosure, investigating the shed on the far side. Sacks and barrels lined the walls, full of food supplies. He set to sabotage, spilling the rations all across the ground. A small strike, but no less a nuisance.

_Cluck-cluck-ba gawk! _

Khalid jumped and slashed at the air, heart throbbing in his chest. Scratching came from the corner of the shed. A cage sat covered by a blanket, and he tossed it aside to find chickens within.

He smiled. Chickens! He was afraid of chickens, of all things. When he had the time to tell her, Jaheira would have a laugh for sure.

"Come along now," Khalid whispered, breaking them free. He began herding them out when a screech cut through the air. He rushed outside, greeted by the gnolls ripping apart a cow. The other animals bolted away, far more afraid of being eaten than the flimsy fence.

"Stop! C-cut that out and b-be quiet!"

One of the gnolls looked up only for a moment before biting into the dying animal. Hunger mattered far more to them than him. Animal gore caked their fur and splattered around them in their feast.

Between their feeding and the scared animals, they made enough noise to wake the dead. Khalid looked around, afraid the camp would come alive at any moment. "If you won't stop, p-please be quick about it! We have to g-go!"

Ludrug looked up this time, and his stare sent Khalid's spine tingling. There was no controlling them now. The taste of blood, a luxury out of reach for them in shackles, turned them feral. Ludrug was up and running on all fours before Khalid had the time prepare himself.

A scream died on his lips when the gnoll rushed past him and tackled a figure to the ground. His companions followed in his stead and it was another's screams that echoed in the night. Khalid watched them tear into the bandit, his stomach flipping. He suppressed the urge to wretch.

"We have to go. Now! We don't have the m-manpower to f-fight!"

There would be more, and they would not be happy. Already sleepy groans and swears traveled on the wind from across the camp. The gnoll pack rushed toward the sounds, howling as one. Khalid stood still in shock until his legs listened to him. Prayers and curses swirled in his mind as he took off after them, nerves giving way to soldier instincts.

* * *

"Tazok has taken his sweet time seeing to his latest payment," the hobgoblin said, voice dripping with discontent. "And he is not here."

"Payments are earned," another voice rumbled, coming from a mountain of a man off in the corner. "I understand the rabble of inbred creatures you lead are inadequate, so perhaps that is why your gold has shriveled up. You'd do well to take a lesson from the Black Talons, though not to well. That'd be bad for business."

There was a ring of metal and the hobgoblin's blade swung free from its scabbard. "I am paid to raid, not to tolerate your insults."

The man stared at the sword pointed in his direction and stood up. He snatched up the hammer by his feet. "Lower your weapon or I'll paste your brains across this tent."

Tiax adjusted himself from where he hid, confident in his stealth; at his back was a clean tear in the tent side, allowing him to enter. With a little gnomish magic, he was a ghost to the bandits, unseen and unheard. It was always delightful to subvert the Gnomefather's gift in service to the Black Sun.

He licked his lips, relishing the hostility in the air. Let them strike each other down, inferior filth sending themselves to the trash heap. _Kill one another, you fools!_

A thin man in robes jumped between them, energy humming in his hands. "Gentlemen, please. A little civility in Tazok's tent. Besides, if either of you even so much as bleed on anything in here, then he will see to it the both of you are flayed when he returns. As businessmen, you both know profits mean little in death."

The two bandits remained glaring at one another, weapons drawn, until the larger man sighed. He dropped his hammer onto the ground and flopped back into his chair. The hobgoblin was slower to sheath his blade.

"Always the voice of reason, eh, Venkt? We'll get to killing each other sometime, Crush. A feud for another day." The man leaned back in his seat, arms locked behind his head. "I know you didn't call the two of us in here to talk about coin, whether the beast's being short changed or not."

Venkt stepped away from them, annoyance swimming in his eyes. "No, that is not the matter at hand, although rest assured I shall check the ledgers about the Chill's service." He nodded toward the hobgoblin.

"You know, come to think of it I think maybe my own coin's been a tad iffy." The man sitting struggled to contain a laugh. "I know you Zhents are solid on your word, but I mean, if you're checking already…"

Venkt brought a hand to his head. "You greedy ass… yes, yes, I'll make sure the _both_ of you are rewarded appropriately for your services. However, part of that shall rely on keeping this camp on a tight watch. Lately there have been lulls in attentiveness."

The hobgoblin growled. "You mean the rat we sniffed out? The one I recall one of _my beastmen_ uncovering?"

"I am, yes," Venkt said. "It would be in the interest of both of your groups to make sure no more slip through the cracks. I've yet to begin his interrogation in earnest, so perhaps it is a minor headache, but I am not one to leave stones unturned." He gestured toward the tent's entrance, beckoning the hobgoblin. "If you'd be so kind as to show me to the stone?"

Crush grumbled, making his way out with the robed man. "Just a few tents down this way…"

"I'll return soon enough, Mr. Khosann. Stay for a moment," Venkt said in passing.

Khosann waved him off, calling out as they departed. "It's always a pleasure to make 'em squeal. Hells, can do it with just my little finger, real slow-like. I'd help rough the rat up, but my heart's not in it tonight." Left alone, he stood up and stretched. He toyed with the amulet around his neck, a smile creeping along his face.

Tiax shifted, uneasiness settling over him. That big dolt was looking his way now, his dumb grin widening. Pfah, as if the fool could see through a Servant of Cyric's talents.

"Funny the others didn't see you scurrying where you shouldn't be. Come now, Venkt, I thought mages had a spell for everything." Khosann hefted his hammer, making a show of twirling it. "Out with you. Give me a good look at your face before I break it."

Tiax gritted his teeth. Who was this maggot to make threats and demands from him, Cyric's Chosen? Defiance straightened his spine and he moved from his crouch, his invisibility winking away.

"I've not had the chance to kill one of you before. Perhaps I will need to start calling myself 'Half-Hammer' once I'm through with you… no, best not. The men'd have too much fun with that one."

Tiax reached into his pocket, procuring the symbol of his Lord. A chant flowed from his lips and mist pooled at his feet. His minion loomed behind him, claws clicking.

"What vile manner of pest are you, rat?"

"Prod the Hand of God and it shall smash your insolence!"

"God's got quite the tiny hand. Think he'll squeal all the same when his fingers are busted one bone at a time?"

Tiax snarled. Club held high, he charged with Korax's screeching in tow.

* * *

Jaheira yelled, diving out of the way of a hail of arrows. A tent near her went down in a blast of color and smoke. Others lay strewn about, having suffered the same fate; perhaps the only good thing the gnome was capable of on the night.

She called forth a wall of brambles as more arrows rained around her. The thorns snaked outward with a mind of their own, seeking her attackers. They wrapped around the bandits unfortunate enough to get caught and squeezed the life from them.

This was not the situation she had desired.

She had seen to the fool boy of a bandit, making certain he'd remain in the cave and out of her way, before making a mental map of the camp. Khalid led the gnolls to the side opposite of her while Tiax snooped around the bigger tent: the leader's, if Credus' word was worth remotely anything. Silvanus willing, they'd convene with whatever information they could uncover, leave the gnolls' to create a mess, and slip out without any resistance. With the location and numbers of the bandits pinned down, it would be a matter of spurring on the Flaming Fist to send a contingent of mercenaries to siege the camp properly; easier too, since they'd have everything neatly laid out for them by the work of others.

Savage howling ripped through the air. A chorus of screams, angry and panicked, followed after. One thing had gone according to plan: the gnolls created a mess alright.

Jaheira sprung up and ran toward the beasts, a trail of vines whipping in her wake. Bandits tripped and struggled to bring their weapons to bear as she sped past them. Nature's wrath was more than enough to keep them occupied.

Find Khalid. That was more important than fighting. This operation of hers had bore little fruit, and even less if they could not escape. Already she could hear Khalid's clicking tongue and see him shaking his head, wrinkles from years of worry creasing his face. One of these days she'd have to concede to his caution.

She could see the gnolls spread out over a heap of bodies and engaged in battle. With their fur slick with blood and eyes gleaming with sadism, they painted a demonic picture. For the terrifying sight they posed, they were not without injuries; lacerations broke skin and arrows protruded from their hides.

No sympathy for the monsters welled up inside her. She rooted for them so long as they breathed and fought their common enemy. Luckily it appeared the gnolls had enough strength to keep on breathing for much longer.

_Damn it, Khalid, if you've been taken from me…_

Jaheira's heart raced, as she still saw no sign of him. He had been with those beasts, but it made sense to leave them to their rampage. He was no coward, as much as his stutter and demeanor might make him see, so she knew he was still within the camp; if he wasn't, he'd have a wife's fury to contend with, and the bandits couldn't even come close to comparing.

The central tent Credus spoke of rose up in front of her and bodies spilled out from it. A man rivaling Minsc in size struggled against a monster, its rotting claws grappling his arms to keep his hammer at bay. A smaller body wrapped around his legs, smashing a club against him.

"You are—argh!—really pissing me off!"

"Bathe in his blood, Korax!"

The man swept the creature's legs out from under it and ripped Tiax off of him, sending the gnome airborne. Blood stained his face, flowing from jagged claw marks. A blow from his hammer crushed Korax back to the ground as it tried to stand. He turned to stomp off toward Tiax, stopping when his wild eyes settled on Jaheira.

"Gods piss all over me, there's a whole nest of rats now? I'll not let another land the first blow!" He roared and charged at her. Jaheira spun out of the way of his hammer, only to find herself wrenched to the ground. She cried out, pain searing along her scalp as the bandit dragged her down by her hair. His size belied his speed, and her oversight nearly cost her her head.

Her neck protested as she rolled away from another blow. Dirt erupted into the air, a crater left where she had once been. She scrambled for her staff and brought it to bear, jabbing away the giant to create distance. Rage rolled out from the bandit in a roar, a beast unused to the back foot; still though, he was a behemoth with his war hammer, smashing away her staff as if batting away a fly.

Jaheira eyed Tiax as much as she dared, most of her attention focused on her aggressor. A mad chant to Cyric flowed from his tongue and his minion rose amidst a glow, skulking behind the bandit—a sickening distortion of Nature, but in the moment an advantage. The gnolls' cackling could still be heard, though their initial surprise seemed to wear thin as the camp organized itself against the assault.

This was a waste of time. She had to find Khalid and escape. With a shout, Jaheira dipped away with a feint, provoking a poorly aimed swing, and lunged forward to catch the bandit in the stomach. He backpedaled with a grunt, his balance far more stable than she liked.

"Gotta try better than that to fool a slumrat from Iriaebor!" He gripped the end of her staff and pulled her close.

There was no time for this!

Jaheira followed her weapon only until Korax screeched from behind the bandit, leaping into his back. She released her staff and dashed away, free of the giant while he contended with the abomination. Seeing Tiax, she sped off toward him.

"Ah, the wench comes to huddle at Tiax's feet?" The gnome laughed. "It is about tim—ack! Tiax is no sack of potatoes to be carried by a peasant!"

"We are leaving." Jaheira struggled to keep a hold on Tiax with all his shifting as she ran; she'd have an easier time bathing a mountain lion. "We will find my husband and flee this mess. Speak up about what you found in that tent, gnome, and be quick about it!"

* * *

He didn't have a chance to keep up with the gnolls. Not in a million years could he match their bloodlust-fueled pace, vengeance and malice strengthening their weakened bodies. What bandits smart enough to run away in fear from the beasts' initial charge only ended up grouping together when their nerves returned—a problem, Khalid discovered as he lagged behind.

A tactical retreat was what it was (though Jaheira would have pointed out otherwise.) Sword and shield raised and light steps guiding him through the brush, Khalid jumped at every noise. The din of battle never stopped, and he shuddered—Jaheira was still stuck in that mess somewhere.

Steeling himself, he trudged through the undergrowth and watched for a safe moment to head back into the camp. The glare of fire illuminated a rush of bodies heading from tents still standing to the other side of the camp. A shack of some sort, covered in a patchwork of stitched animal hides, stood away from the cluster of tents. A figure stood outside of it, pacing and gesturing at the structure.

A hobgoblin by the looks of it and not a very happy one either. In between subjecting the shack to his anger he did his best to direct the chaos, shouting out commands to the bandits. Khalid recognized the hobgoblin's demeanor as he piled orders on his subordinates; any soldier could guess the creature's status.

Khalid's took a breath, waiting for a lull in the erratic camp defense. The blade in his hand took on an extra weight as he clung to it. He walked toward the hobgoblin with slow, purposeful strides.

A headless serpent could only writhe for so long.

Khalid broke into a run, and the warrior in him delighted at the hobgoblin's surprise. An Alzhedo war cry accompanied his sword as it crashed into his foe's steel. He dug deep for his martial instincts and hammered away, pressing his advantage. The hobgoblin surrendered ground, his sloppy parries only enough to ward off fatal strikes.

Khalid shrugged off a counterblow with his shield and shoved back, sending the monster off balance. Quick as a whip his blade struck true and shed blood. Heart drumming in his ears, the killing blow was wrenched from him as a force struck from behind. Pain lanced up his spine; foolhardy to have ignored the shack's inhabitant. Khalid pressed through, disengaging enough to keep the new threat in view.

"I've yet to finish my little _chat_ with our prisoner and I'm beset by more rats? Deductions in pay will _most definitely_ be in order!"

"Shove it and cast another spell!" The hobgoblin kept his blade up and covered his wound. "Grangor'd have this fool dusted into the ground by now!"

The new assailant walked out from the shack, fingers dancing in front of him. Light exploded in a flash around him and Khalid fell to the ground, arrows of flame speeding overhead. The wizard snarled in disgust, weaving another spell to make up for the miss.

Khalid punched out with his shield arm and surprised the wizard with a face full of wood and steel. The man stumbled backward onto his rear with a yelp of pain, the shield-turned-projectile breaking his casting. Khalid snapped forward and tackled the wizard back into the shack. He hacked, first a quick chop slicing through the man's raised arm, and hacked again, the second cutting through the man's neck.

He leaped off of the dead bandit, doing his best to ignore the pain behind the wizard's first spell. The hobgoblin had him cornered now and need only come through the doorway. His mind raced—the monster and any others would have to come through the only entrance, a choke point, and even with the element of surprise lost Khalid had dealt a substantial wound. He crept further into the enclosure when his foot caught on something—or rather, someone judging by the pained cough.

"Can't be time yet, I imagine. Not judging by that cretin gurgling on his own blood over there. Heh, can't see it, but I imagine it's a beautiful sight."

"You're a p-prisoner here?"

"Oh, you're a perceptive one." The man groaned, rolling up to a sitting position. "Take it the rest of his friends out there are right pissed about whoever you and your friends are? All that chaos going on, there's gotta be more of ya."

There was a flurry of footsteps—someone running?—and the hobgoblin yelled. Khalid braced himself for the assault… though it never came. The hobgoblin continued to yell out a stream of curses, but two more voices joined his: one annoying and nasally, the other that forceful and determined tone he loved.

"You c-could say that."

A familiar face popped into view through the entryway. "I swear, if that gnome is lying about this captive—Khalid!"

He had enough time to open his mouth before Jaheira rushed him with a hug. She broke away, turning him this way and that to inspect for injuries. "C-careful, dear. My back is a tad tender."

"Lovers too? Nothing more romantic than busting up a bandit ring," the prisoner said.

A frown wiped away Jaheira's relief. "So Tiax was right, and he's unwittingly returned you to me, husband. Good. And you, can you walk?"

"That wizard spent more time trying to break my mind than my legs. Help me up and get this damn blindfold off of me and I'll be more than happy to show ya."

"Let us hurry then. Tiax is doing us a favor by keeping that creature and his underlings busy, but I'll not trust him too last too long in a fight. Besides, it appears I do owe him some thanks for once."

Khalid smiled as they filed out of the shack, reciprocating the squeeze Jaheira gave his hand.

* * *

Khalid stared after his wife as she stalked around the trees, making certain they had not been followed. She turned, catching him watching her, and shook her head—he saw the grin she stifled.

"I think we're as good as we're gonna get for the night now," the freed captive—Ender Sai was the name he gave—said. "Doubt they'll bother to come after us anyway, what with the cloak and dagger theatrics you three pulled. Good show, by the way."

"Count yourself lucky, peon, that you fell into Tiax's good graces by happenstance," Tiax said, arms folded over his chest. "It's not like Tiax intended for it."

"That meant for me or the boy there?" Ender Sai raised an eyebrow, giving Credus a look; the young bandit did his best to stare are the ground. "Quite the crew you are. My superiors will love this report when I make it back."

"You must b-be something yourself, n-no?" Khalid asked. He shifted over as Jaheira returned to them, taking a seat next to him. "A b-bit brave to sneak into such a dangerous place."

"Foolhardy is more like it," Jaheira said.

Ender Sai chuckled. "Wouldn't you know it? We must be birds of a feather for having the same idea, though kudos to you for not getting caught. Musta left my soft soled boots at home for this mission."

Jaheira leaned forward, her face scrunched up; that look meant she wanted answers. "You were sent here then. By who?"

"Ah ah." Ender Sai wagged his finger at her. "Can't answer that. Bad for business if I did. I'll be nice enough to not be too curious about you guys too, though I imagine we both found ourselves in that camp for similar reasons."

"Is that so?" Jaheira sighed. "I'll not interrogate you then, but certainly there is some common ground we stand on."

"T'would be poor manners to rescue me from the pot only to toss me right back in. Aye, I reckon there's enough between us to share. Can't tell you my employer, but no harm in telling you theirs."

"Tiax already knows!" Tiax lit up his pipe, blowing smoke at the spy. "You insult him by bargaining with useless words. Tiax heard it from their own lips that it's the Zhents." Vitriol hung on the group's name.

"I-I-I… was working for Zhents?" Credus said, choking on his words. "That's not… that isn't…"

"Nothing to get into a tizzy over, lad." Ender Sai waved away the smoke, no humor in his smile. "I didn't take a dip into the Moonsea and neither did you. It's the Iron Throne's pool we've been swimming in here."

"A dangerous game for merchants to cast blame on the Zhentarim," Jaheira said.

"Makes it all the more intriguing, right?"

"So you can tell us about T-Tazok then," Khalid said. "He's the leader of all this, we've heard, and yet saw nothing of him."

"No, you wouldn't have, and trust me, had you found him you'd know damn well who he is. No, that ogre ain't a Zhent either. Smart for an ogre, but he's not the brains behind whatever this plot is. Just a hired arm to keep the grunts in line. He's been making trips to Cloakwood and last I heard he was on his way there for another."

"What for, if you'd be so kind?" Jaheira asked.

"Could tell ya if I knew. Had I not slipped up, I'd be hiding away in that forest instead of here. Probably a good thing I bungled my job or else you three'd be all the blinder."

Khalid shared in Jaheira's sigh. Answers to their questions, only to have them spawn more questions. An average day in the life of a Harper.

"Espionage aside, where are we heading now once we throw these bandit's off our asses?" Ender Sai asked. "Hopefully somewhere with some hot food and a warm bed. I'm a tad tired of skulking around in the woods."

"To Beregost," Jaheira said. "So I'm afraid you'll have to skulk for a bit longer with us."

"I reckon I can live with that. Skulking means I'm not dead. I do appreciate ya saving me. So long as I don't cross the bosses, I'm more than willing to spill what I know to make sure someone can crack some skulls for me."

"Duly noted," Jaheira said. She stood up, sighing as she stretched. "We will hold you to that offer along the way. Keep an eye open for us so we can rest, and make certain Credus here stays put."

Ender Sai saluted her as his rescuers bedded down for the night. "Will do, mam. Come here, kid. Sidle over and take a seat next to me. I've got some stories to tell ya about some of my comrades who've been captured on the job..."

* * *

Author's Note: Ended up being quite some fun to give these three some more screen time of their own. Tiax is always a treat to get behind, what with his crazy mind, and balancing Khalid's compassion with Jaheira's gruffness was an interesting task. Felt a bit rough at times for them, so if anything seems amiss by all means hit me up about it. Last thing I want to do is be unfaithful with character representations. Appreciate the views and the reviews!


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